Within, without
by Netsie
Summary: An ancient artifact chronicles a war seen through the eyes of a bio-engineer as she stretches ingenuity to preserve her critically endangered species. Her cybernetic virus has far-reaching consequences as it comes into contact with a member of the Enterprise Crew a thousand years later and threatens the existence of Lal after developing a consciousness within Data's Neural Net. A/U
1. The Away Mission

None of these characters or universes are mine (Property of PBS/Paramount/Viacom/Whoever I can't keep track anymore), and I'm not making money off this story. I just like to write whatever pops into my head. Besides, it's good practice for my own story (You can find me and my Historical Fiction on Fiction Press) This is set in an Alternate Universe. Everything is exactly the same, except Tasha Yar is still alive (Rather than die, she transferred to another ship, then returned years later). This is post Lal and pre-emotion chip.

**Within, Without**

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**_Chapter One: The Away Mission_**

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It was a sharp little thing, about 7.75 centimeters in length, 3.5 millimeters in diameter and 13.3 celsius in temperature. Of course this was by visual estimation alone, since the object was now stuck in Commander Data's trachea - or what would be his trachea, had he one.

"Data!" Riker shouted, and nearly lost grip of the object that had suddenly propelled the shard-gone-projectile straight into his crew member's throat. Riker felt mildly dizzy for only a moment, thankful it had been Data in the line of fire and not someone less resilient. Luckily, the other members of the away team were outside the lab and oblivious to the bizarre turn of events within the tiny building that Riker and Data were assigned.

"My god, are you all right?"

"Yes, commander." He replied as nonchalant as was his custom. His voice sounded split, however, as if two Datas were speaking in unison. Damage, no doubt. Calculating yellow eyes met needlessly concerned blue. Data was more curious about the peculiar way human flesh looked when deprived of blood, rather than the offensive sliver of metal now thoroughly lodged within his circuitry.

Riker's face had gone startlingly pale beneath his tan.

"Are _you_ all right, commander?"

"I'm fine." His color was returning quickly, and with a vengeance. A frustrated blush crept from the First Officer's collar, likely at realization he had just shot one of the members he was in charge of protecting. "I was just worried about you." He admitted, then looked down at the cylindrical vessel with new found respect. "What is this thing?"

"Likely a weapon. There are approximately 1,277 different varieties of weapons with similar cylindrical design, usually used to compress gas. A release valve is activated by a depressor. The release of gas acts as a propellant, which-"

"-Data, it sounds like there are two of you."

"Yes, commander. The projectile seems to have pierced my vocal cords and punctured my equivalent of the human central canal of the spine. I must say, that was an excellent shot."

Riker cursed under his breath. "Can you move?"

"Of course." He wiggled his fingers to illustrate, then gingerly placing thumb and index on the offensive object, he tried to remove it. His fingers slipped off the metal shard. "It appears I may need some assistance in removing it, however." He blinked and cocked his head, trying to swallow, and then realized he couldn't.

But he soon found that by compressing his reflex around the shard caused a curious feeling - an intimate awareness of the object that he could relate to Touch. He repeated the attempt to swallow, to relish the sensation of that cool metal he calculated to be about 98% steel, 1.75% carbon and .25% other base metals. So fascinated he was by inspecting the object through attempted swallowing, he was unaware his voluntary gagging display was making Riker go green at the gills.

"Would you stop doing that?!"

"My apologies, commander." Data flipped open his tricorder and resumed his earlier inspection of the lab. _There will be plenty of opportunities to inspect this further._ He reasoned, trying to control that sometimes insatiable desire to study and observe._ Back to the task at hand._

The Away Mission was a simple one: Study the barren terrain of Tseres IV and bring back any interesting artifacts that may prove Dr. Panman's theory on Borg Origins stemming from the planet. The theory was as far-fetched as the thought of bringing back anything useful. Thus far they had discovered part of weapons and evidence of battle... But advanced robotics? No.

Around the lab, Data could see what used to be a stone bench along the West wall. It was now broken at one end and in a sharp decline, where a smorgasbord of odds and ends had slid off and piled high near the floor. Tubes and gears, more cylinders within cylinders, broken and dusty glass, natural oils and - and. and and and. None of these items were of any value except for its base part.

Nothing from this old, abandoned lab was of any interest, save for what was still hitching a ride within his body.

Once he was several feet from Riker, he peered casually over his shoulder. His commanding officer was inspecting what Data recognized was an ancient, dismantled probe, but calculated it would take Riker at least another 12 minutes to conclude as much. Against his orders, he swallowed once more for good measure. Of the .25% base metals, he could now identify it was made up of copper, cobalt, nickel and titanium. How intriguing!

"Riker to LaForge."

"Go ahead, Commander."

"Will you come to the lab for a moment? Data could use your help." _I sure as hell am not going through another three hours of listening to him gagging._ Riker thought grimly to himself.

"On my way."

Overhearing Riker's request, Data could only assume Riker had heard his covert gag._ It appears the distance between Riker and myself was not far enough for him to not hear me, however, in the past __it was._ He turned to study the human a moment. _Had Riker's hearing improved suddenly?_ His head cocked to the side, like an ancient raptor, in his analysis as he studied him.

He was fully aware that the hearing of an adult in his prime was usually sub-par to that of a child; the decades between the young and the adult will accumulate enough static trauma that what should be the peak of human efficiency would already be worn and tarnished, like a patina on old metal. And yet Riker's hearing improved.

The human body had miraculous moments of spontaneous healing that flew in the face of science - especially when it lacked access to the basic necessities for life, like water. Indeed that _should_ cause more damage, to be denied such an essential element. And yet in short durations of going without that necessity improved vitality in almost every way. It was contradictory but no less true, and such assault on modern medical logic made Starfleet Medical ignore its impirical, and anecdotal, evidence.

It was a beautiful thing, aging and healing, the tearing down and rebuilding, the ever-evolving entity of the learning and adapting human.

"Are you dehydrated, commander?"

"What?"

"Your hearing has improved by at least 6% since our last away mission."

"Has it?" He watched Data nod in confirmation. "And what does that have to do with dehydration?"

"I have observed that the human body goes through periods of accelerated healing when deprived of water. Are you thirsty?"

A clanging of objects heralded Geordi LaForge's approach, much to Riker's relief. Geordi kicked off a wire that had coiled around his leg and entered the lab. "I gotta say I'm happy you called me over, commander. The wind chill really bites into you."

"It's not much warmer in here by any means." He lifted his palm to Data, beckoning Geordi to Data's side. Geordi looked at his hand, then Data, and very slowly, his jaw dropped.

What looked like a metal spike was sticking straight out of Data's neck, and yet he stood and conversed as though nothing were amiss.

"What happened to _you_?" Geordi set down his case of instruments and leaned so close to Data that he felt the need to lean back in response. Geordi placed a gentle finger on the needle-looking instrument.

"I was inspecting the suspended Probe in the center of the room, to ascertain if it was still active, when Commander Riker shot me." It was so matter of factly stated Geordi almost didn't believe it.

"_Shot you_?" He turned on Riker, whose hands were lifted in defense.

"It was an accident!" He caught Geordi's outraged expression. "I didn't know it was going to do that," He spread his arms wide in a sweeping motion across the room. "Everything in this lab is inoperable, and I had no idea I was even _pointing_ it at him." He let one arm fall to his hip, the other massaged the bridge of his nose. He was beginning to feel a headache coming on. "Honestly I didn't even know it was a weapon. Will he be all right, Geordi?"

"He looks fine to me." Geordi said as he studied the wound. A miniscule leak was slowly seeping from the entry point - Data's version of bleeding, which meant his spinal hydraulic fluid canal had been breached. A minor nuisance, and easily repairable once back aboard the enterprise. He opened his tool case and fingered through several gadgets, determining which would be best for the situation. He pulled out what looked like coated pliers and lifted it for a better look with his visor. "That should do. Let's take care of that, shall we?"

With the pliers firmly clutching the metal, Geordi LaForge smiled. "Now this won't hurt one bit." He said encouragingly.

"Indeed it won't, Geordi. Your bedside manner is unnecessary, as I lack the ability to experience fear. But I appreciate it."

Geordi licked his lips, preparing himself. He yanked. The needle failed to budge, and he tried again, with no luck.

"May I?" Data asked, then took hold of the pliers as Geordi let go. The android gave it a good yank, and still it remained firmly in place. Geordi whistled.

"You might have to live with that thing. Call it a Piercing and decorate it. Could be the next hot thing in fashion."

"I do not believe anyone on board Enterprise would find this aesthetically pleasing, Geordi."

"It was a joke." He saw Data's quizzical expression. "You know, to try to lighten the mood?"

"Ah!" He smiled at Geordi, then eyed the pliers. "I still fail to recognize the appropriate timing and placement of jokes." He tried tugging on the needle again, to no avail. "I was certain the Gorilla joke would have evoked laughter, but I received scorn instead."

The engineer placed his hand over Data's. "That's because you told the joke at a funeral, Data. We'll do this together, on three. Ready? One, two... Three!" Data lurched forward, the pliers still in hand and the needle still imbedded.

"Have you tried pulling down, Geordi?" Riker asked and grabbed the pliers himself. "Maybe all three of us can get it loose." He braced his foot against Data's chest for good measure. "Again. One... Two...Three!" They yanked. It quickly dislodged with a metallic _pop!_, and Riker fell to the floor, pliers and needle still in his hands. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the thing - hovering only an inch from his eyes, he could see it was impossibly sharp but hollow in the center like a traditional stylus. On the other end a drop of whitish liquid beaded at the tip.

Data tentatively dabbed at his throat. A small hole remained where the needle once was. Some more liquid trickled into the hollow spot at the base of his neck. He eyed commander Riker, still on the floor and grasping the offending spike and pliers.

"Thank you, commander." He extended his hand and Riker took it. He hoisted his superior to his feet. "And you, Geordi." He eyed the needle with interest. "Would you mind if I kept that, commander?"

He handed the needle and pliers to Data. "Sure, I don't see why not."

"Thank you. I will need it to pierce my ears. Perhaps you could assist me?"

"Uh." Riker replied and rubbed his beard, purposely avoiding eye contact.

"That was a joke, commander." Data was expecting laughter. Riker looked away. He glanced to Geordi, who stifled a grimace.

"I take your expressions to mean I failed to humor you. I will try again later, perhaps when the timing is better."

"Data... You can't force humor."

"In fact, we'd all appreciate it if you didn't."

"Come on." Riker grumbled. "There's nothing else this lab has to offer."

"I hope we find something of significance soon, It's freezing down here." Geordi rubbed his hands together and breathed on them. He followed Riker on his way out, and caught sight of Data tucking both needle and cylinder into a small Starfleet pack.

_It's freezing, there's nothing here, I shot Data, and this lab is boring the hell out of me_. As Riker stepped out the doorway of the lab, a blast of cold air disturbed his hair, and the same wire that had tried to claim Geordi now wrapped itself around Riker's leg. He was more than eager to leave the suffocating lab and the thought of anything keeping him from leaving was an offense to his freedom, even if it was an inanimate object. With one frustrated jerk, the wiring grew taught, then snapped off a small panel from the East wall where it had been attached.

Data and Geordi turned. "Commander, look!" They crouched near the small square-foot panel. It was a small storage space with a single, well preserved data recorder neatly tucked inside.

Geordi laughed. "Commander, I think you just found what we were looking for!"

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	2. Chapter 2: Concluding the Mission

**Chapter 2: **

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**Concluding the mission**

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The enterprise was comfortably warm in comparison to the cold weather of Tseres IV. The ambient hum of the engine was an also welcome change to the eerie whistling winds of the planet surface, and the combined comfort was having an almost soporific effect on the Away Team.

"So, what have you found?"

"Preliminary studies do indicate there was a battle on Tseres IV." Leutenant-Commander Geordi began, and Picard smiled as his chief engineer emphasized with his hands while explaining their discoveries, as if reliving his earlier experiences while in the field. Picard folded his arms and forced a poker-face. Geordi's enthiusiasm reminded him of his younger days spent on more away missions than he could count. He missed those days - but with the title of captain and its added benefits, there was a trade-off. He was often left to delegate from the ship as protocol required - and it was a protocol Will Riker enforced passionately. He listened as Geordi continued. "We've uncovered numerous weapons, probes, shield generators and bio-scanners on the surface."

"All of those things are basic technology used in modern warfare." Tasha Yar added and unconsciously tapped her fingers on the table.

"Do you have any idea yet what the inhabitants were fighting?"

"Mmm, there's nothing concrete yet. We haven't even found remains, robotic or organic. In all honesty, the weapons we found... aren't even really weapons."

"Explain."

"They're part of weapons. Incomplete, but there are a lot of parts, and many different styles." Tasha pursed her lips in thought. "Honestly, it looks like a manufacturing plant than anything else." Geordi gave her a sidelong look. She glanced down suddenly. "Of course, that's only an assumption based off six hours of study."

"Any evidence of Borg involvement?"

"Not even a shred, sir. We can confidently say that Dr. Panman's theory is wrong."

Captain Picard leaned back and straightened his shirt. He exhaled in thought. "Nevertheless, there was a battle, and I'm certain the fallen are waiting for us to discover their stories." He paused in thought. "Can you replicate one of the weapons?"

"There's enough parts that I could reverse engineer a functioning weapon, sure. May I ask why you would want to recreate it, though?" Geordi had no problem in recreating ancient technology.

Reverse engineering was one of his many talents. But when it came to engineering weapons, the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet were touchy, paranoid and persnickety, and would not tolerate their production without knowing Geordi had at least questioned the captain's motive beforehand. Following a captain's orders was a vital function of any officer - but blindly following was another.

"If we can duplicate this technology, we may find what it does. Perhaps it can offer clues as to who the extinct inhabitants of Tseres IV were warring with."

"I bet I can get one working in a couple days."

"You have one." Picard lifted his index for emphasis.

"We also discovered a data recorder in the laboratory." Riker added. "Hidden behind a water-tight wall panel. Beautifully preserved."

"A data recorder?" Picard echoed, eyes alight with delight. Xeno archaeological Gold. An excavator's dream. Ambrosia of historians. Provided the information contained therein was undamaged from millenia of harsh weather, it could answer questions in minutes what would take months or years in the field to uncover and piece together. "Now, this _is_ news."

"The information contained in the recorder is compressed and likely in a dead language. Once we convert the extension we can run it through a decoder, and get a translation working for it."

"Do it. Perhaps whoever owned the recorder can shed some light on what happened here."

"With of the discovery of the data recorder, should we wait to excavate the lower levels of the laboratory?" Riker asked. That represented a lot of hard work and resources for something that may not be needed, should the data recorder answer all their questions. "It may be unnecessary, if the recorder contains enough information."

"Lower levels? I thought you said it was a cubicle, an outcropping."

"That was what sensors had shown. However, Tseres IV is categorized as a split-class H-L planet; Three-quarters of the year is class H and the remainder is class L. Since it has a severe elliptical orbit, it fluctuates throughout the year and changes classes based off its distance to the parent star." Data scanned the room, studying the expressions of all who sat around the briefing table before continuing. He looked for any telltale sign of confusion, which would indicate a need for him to explain more in-depth. Thus far, most sported the expression of casual interest. Or was that boredom? Sometimes he had trouble distinguishing their complex expressions, especially when trying to mask their true feelings to spare the feelings of another. With regards to sparing Data's feelings, the crew really should know better. He continued.

"As a result, when Tseres IV is closest to the star, torrential rains cause global flooding - up to three feet in the Headlands where the lab is located. Over several millenia. this flooding has filled the majority of the underground chambers with silt so that it appeared at first glance to be an outcropping. In reality, X-rays have shown it is a vast and impressive compound, which descends nearly a mile into its surface crust. It has thirty levels and at least fourteen antechambers, and-"

"-Data, that is _fascinating_." Picard interrupted with a smile.

"Yes, captain." He replied in a way that could be perceived as cheerful agreement.

"I would like to hold off on the excavation. Decode the data recorder, reverse engineer the weapon, and send the results to the Starfleet Xeno Archaeology Branch. If they see a need for further study, they can freeze _their_ asses off.

"I need not remind anyone We have a diplomatic mission on Zephii in two days, and the Zephiians don't appreciate tardiness." He heard a groan emenate from several members of the crew. The Zephiians were a headache, and he had done much the same when the mission had been dropped in his lap.

"Need I remind you this is your job?" He snapped. His officers sat rigidly in their seats, heads lifted in attention. "That's better. You are dismissed."

The crew began to shuffle out of the briefing room, welcome of day's end, and the promise of a hot meal and a sonic shower.

Picard studied his officers as they made their leave, and narrowed his eyes at one. "Data, are you... feeling all right?"

"I am functioning within normal parameters, sir."

"You appear to be...leaking."

He touched his throat. It felt cool and wet under his fingers. "Ah. There was a minor incident in the lab, where I was punctured by a gas-propelled projectile. It is mentioned in my report."

"Well get it fixed. I'll not have you bleeding all over my ship."

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Worf was just beginning to drift off to sleep when he heard a loud _thump!_ in Ensign Cito's quarters. But rather than get up and investigate, he lay still and listened. He sighed. When were these two going to end the relationship? They argued every night for three days, and he needed sleep. _They should challenge one another to determine who is right. This would solve everything._ But no, humans had to do things in a specific way: talk about things, pussyfoot and whine and deny their more violent natures to uphold the thin mask of civility. It made more sense to Worf to get it over with in 2 minutes of passion - fueled by hatred or love - than draw out such misery for days and weeks on end. Humans could learn much from Klingon ways.

"Get back here, you coward!" Came Tasha Yar's infuriated voice, and Worf smiled ferally. _Yes, confront him!_

"There you go! Yell some more! That fixes everything!" The remainder of his heated reply was inaudible. _Now, she should strike him. Hard!_

"what about you, you started shouting first!" _This will not do. He is distracting you from the fight! Focus! _

"Only because I can't get a word in edgewise! I'm surprised you're not dating the Klingon! It would be a good match, you can snarl at each other from across the table! He'd probably like it!" _That was uncalled for! Perhaps I should challenge him. No, no. That would do no good. I must stay out of it._ Still, he couldn't deny he and Yar would be a good match for him. She was a formidable warrior...

"What a great idea!" _Good! Call his bluff!_

"Where are you going?! Come back! Please!" _The man is dishonorable. He starts a fight and runs away. He is a poor mate for someone like Yar._

"I'm leaving! I am so sick of trying to please you! It's impossible! One minute you're happy and the next you're angry! I can't figure you out!" _No! You should stay and fight!_

"Don't put this on me! I just wanted to enjoy an evening with you for once!"_ Now, he will cry and beg like the coward he is._

"It was going fine until you accused me of cheating! You are so..."

"What!"

"Insecure! You're intimidated by me! You feel little, so you lash out at anything that's a perceived threat to your masculinity!" _Yes, this is the real issue. You are strong. He is weak._

"How can I not feel small! You challenge everything I say, you tear me down!" _An easy thing to do._

"I'm not tearing you down, I'm **conversing** with you!" _He will not ever see it this way._

A sudden explosion of expletives, and what Worf thought was shattering glass. _Yes! Fight for your honor!_

"I'm out of here!"_ No! She should draw first blood!_

"Wait, please come back! I'm sorry!" _He begs forgiveness! She should not. It would be a sign of weakness._

The door slid shut, and Worf could hear Tasha Yar walking quickly down the corridor. _You are honorable._

She was available now. He was free to pursue her, if he wanted. He could go to her quarters and offer himself to her. But he had no gift to bring her, no official display of interest. He glanced around the room in thought. He could give her a blade, he had plenty of those and he knew she could - and would - use it. Hmm. No, that would not be a proper gift. He rolled over. Only the heart of a wild Targ is an appropriate gift for such a creature, and there are no targs to be had on Enterprise.

Besides. She may not know the Targ Heart's significance or care even if she did - beneath her tough exterior was still a human female. He supposed he could bring her flowers... He rolled over again.

Who was he kidding. She may be a good match for him, but she could not invoke the feelings that welled within his breast like the sight of a dusky, long dark haired beauty with a braided forehead and triumphant smile could do. No, his soul mate was surely Klingon. She was not what he yearned for.

"Fine, leave me when I need you most, you heartless witch!"

Worf bashed his fist repeatedly against the wall. "BE SILENT!" He shouted.

And then there was silence.

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He had run a diagnostic scan on himself to find minimal damage - just as he suspected, and low liquid levels. The latter was more of a surprise. He hadn't realized just how much fluid he had lost until he undressed for the evening. The front of his uniform was soaked. No wonder Captain Picard demanded his repair, he was bleeding more than he realized.

_Bleeding._ As opposed to the descriptions _seeping, leaking_ or _dripping,_ which was what he had always used when his nutritional fluid was lost through damage. Bleeding implied the presence of blood, which he did not have. But captain Picard had said _bleeding_. Perhaps he should have corrected the captain in his misperception of the nature of his fluid? Or was it not that he failed to understand its nature, and used the incorrect term purposely, to imply that the similarities between _bleeding_ and l_eaking_ were enough to be considered one and the same?

A simple regeneration tool sealed his polymer skin closed. Spot weaved between his legs, impatiently meowing and purring for supper.

"Yes, Spot. It is time for your nutritional supplement. I will have some with you."

"Feline supplement number twenty-two." He lowered the dish to the floor, where Spot dove in and mewed thanks with a mouth full of food. "Liquid supplement number three... electrolyte level seven."

A mug of clear liquid materialized into view.

A half an hour of Sherlock Holmes and topped off with the warm beverage, a subsequent diagnostic scan revealed optimal parameters. With a well-fed spot purring in his lap, he shut down his cognitive function, and programmed to restart it at 04:00, and was whisked away to a world of dreams.

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	3. Chapter 3: Ana's Plan

**Chapter Three:**

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**Ana's Plan**

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Reverse-engineering the weapon went smoothly, and in the end it turned out to be a kind of firearm, the ones designed to kill quickly. Flesh, not robotic. The weapons had no special technology about it - a simple shield generator would deflect whatever the weapon expelled, and there were shield generators on the planet surface. Outdated tech by any means.

The Data Recorder, however, held more than he initially thought. At first glance, it looked simple enough. Deeper inspection showed it was still very simplistic in design, but it allowed for a few gigabytes of text-based data as well. Most of the space went unused, except for a few scraps of information here and there about the nature of the war and how the owner of the recorder was hesitant to publicly voice political views for fear of losing funding.

But it still held some mystery since the voice recording was still impeccably preserved and intact. Geordi had taken the artifact into his quarters once he was off duty. It was against the rules, but between managing the ship's engines and additional assignments and crew training, he didn't have enough time to decode the content before he would have to hand it off to Starfleet's Xeno Archaeological Institute.

Unless he did it off the clock, of course. He didn't mind that, not really; such an ancient device should be handled only by the most experienced on board, he reasoned. And who was the most experienced on board if not him? Besides, he didn't want anyone else to meddle with _his_ treasure. And it was, without a doubt, treasure.

"I think I have it!" The ship's head engineer let out a triumphant laugh. The decoder just finished its conversion, and the information was now being fed into the computer database. He touched the Data Recorder lovingly. Such a beautiful thing, to survive those thousands of years, all alone.

He plugged a connection cord into its side with grace and gentleness.

"Computer..." He breathed. "Play data recorder." He relished the sound of the words as they rolled off his tongue. He spent hours of coding and utilized multiple translation programs to get to this point. Now he would be rewarded for his tenacity. He was about to hear the voice of a person who had been dead for thousands of years. He was not lost on the special honor bestowed upon him.

A rich and cheerful voice of a female emanated from the computer, as if she were singing when she spoke. Had she not been dead and dust, Geordi LaForge would have been in love.

**Central Command Advisor, Professor Tana Anasa, Science Division, Bioengineer, First class**.

_Bioengineer eh? A woman after my own heart._

**I am using my personal Data Recorder to take field and research notes in lieu of the Auto Writer. I understand this is a breach of policy, but I don't care. I find the more advanced technology becomes, the more likely something is to break down.**

_You can say that again._ Geordi thought with experienced humor.

**Besides, I can delete my entries without worrying bout pesky backup files being read by prying eyes. I do not approve of anyone spying on my more intimate thoughts. Data Recorders are outdated, and as a result they are more reliable. I will make a more professional copy into the Auto Writer to divert any suspicions Central Command may have with regards to my using unauthorized equipment.**

He approached his replicator. "Coffee. Decaf, black. One-hundred and twenty-five degrees." A white mug of black coffee materialized. "Ahh," He said and took a careful sip. "Computer, dim lights."

He wanted to immerse himself in her ancient world, and with the lights dimmed and all distractions sorted out, he could do just that. He reclined in his chair and focused on that melodious voice.

**Day one on Tseres IV. **

**I was assigned to this barely habitable planet as a safety measure to keep Central Command's nano technology operations secret. If the Board discovered we were using advanced technology against the Cybers, our order could quickly dissolve into Civil Unrest. Experimentation on unwilling subjects is very damaging to one's reputation.**

_And you're just going along with it, aren't you? So what made you stay? Money? Or fear of your government?_

**On a more personal note, it's my first day in the abandoned plant and I'm already exhausted. The compound is much bigger in person than what I imagined it to be. The lift is loud, squeaky, barely working and each time I use it I expect to plunge to my death. I suppose I should be more grateful for this rare creature comfort; The compound is primitive at best. I was half expecting a mile of stairs, which I am sure there are some hidden somewhere in this awful place. It's almost all underground. The air is stale and there are no windows. I miss my office.**

He listened quietly, the only other sound besides her voice was the hum of a healthy engine. He took another sip and savored its nutty, almost bitter flavor.

**Day two on Tseres IV.**

**My team has assembled the majority of my lab in the third level. The first two levels are too cold for my equipment to operate with any efficiency. You wouldn't believe how cold it gets on the surface.**

_I could believe it._

**I am concerned about the torrential rains that are due to begin sometime next month, but Vaska tells me the portable shield generator will keep the water from flooding the compound. I have to believe he is telling me the truth, even if he is a traitorous Cyber. I don't see any evidence of flooding here yet, and the compound is nearly sixty years old. I will begin with the software for the new Electro-Viral Extermination program. From now on I will call it the 'EVE' for the sake of brevity.**

_Are you sure you want to program the software before you manufacture a prototype nano?_

**Day four on Tseres IV.**

**I am getting very little sleep, so I'm not seeing nearly as much progress as I was hoping. The winds on this planet split through the exposed strata cliffs on the surface and make the most eerie howling sounds at night. At first I thought the compound was being invaded by mythological Weyrpyres. I understand that's absolutely absurd, but the mind can take you places when you're tired and several feet underground. I realize now I should have developed a prototype nano before starting on the program. I think I can replicate most of the program into the revised version, so I won't lose all my previous work.**

_Told you so._

**Day eleven on Tseres IV. **

**I hate my assistant, Noreen. How she managed a position in the science department baffles me. Likely she romanced one of the Science board members, and now I'm stuck with her. She actually voiced concern that she might be infected with the EVE Virus! Of all the ignorant things to be afraid over! The virus will not target any cell or material that harbors a double helix. Of course there are other signature characteristics of organic life the virus will also avoid, but I didn't need to delve that deeply into details with her. I doubt she would understand. I told her not to worry since the virus would only dissolve mechanical components, but that fact seems to have gone right over her silly head. She had the gall to tell me I am being irresponsible in handling the Virus. She is far too arrogant for someone so simple-minded.**

**Honestly, she should be on the home planet, popping out babies or something. That is the duty of a young Natural after all, why isn't she there? I count myself lucky I was past bearing years when the Reproduction Act passed. I hate children. They are noisy and smelly.**

**Noreen avoids the lab most of the time. What a useless assistant. The only people who should be wary of the Virus is Vaska and Mistra, and they have faithfully stayed out of my laboratory.**

**I don't much care for Mistra. She doesn't talk much. I don't know if I can trust her. Both she and Vaska are Cybers who support the Naturals. They say they want to preserve our race as much as the naturals do ... I still can't shake the feeling they are double agents. I am sending a request to Cental Command to reassign them elsewhere.**

_You're getting a little ranty and too paranoid. I think you might need to get out of that lab. Tight spaces can do that to people. Only fifteen minutes on the first level and Riker shot Data._ He knew it was an honest accident, as Riker wasn't likely to give in so easily to bouts of violence against fellow crew members. But Riker's increasing frustration at being in such cramped quarters hadn't gone unnoticed. Clearly, the suffocating atmosphere had a similar effect on Tana.

**Day Twenty on Tseres IV.**

**My request to reassign Vaska and Mistra was denied. Vaska was... upset, when he heard I didn't trust him. Mistra, on the other hand, told me she respected me for it. As I was questioning if she was right for the program, she was questioning the same about me. My paranoia concerning her loyalties gave us enough common ground to understand one another. The war is going poorly for the Naturals, and we can't afford to waste time and resources on ill-fitting agents. **

**Speaking of ill-fitting agents, Noreen is as stupid as ever. She asked me if the EVE Virus restored the Cybers' organs after dissolving their mechanical components. She saw all thirty-thousand lines of programming, you would think that since she co-wrote it that she would know it didn't contain such abilities. Perhaps I should have asked to relocate ****_her_**** and not the Cybers.**

He took a sip of his cooled coffee and stretched, enjoying the feel of the small pops in his lower back as his muscle and spine relaxed. Professor Tana was a bit high-strung and snappy from the sounds of it. Maybe their relationship wouldn't work out after all.

**Day Thirty-seven on Tseres IV.**

**I am being pressured by Central Command to speed up the process. I tried telling them you can't rush scientific discovery, but try explaining that to a gaggle of bureaucrats. I hear the war is going south for the Naturals. Of course it would since the Cybers are much more resilient with their mechanical parts. Personally, Central Command should simply divide our two planets and give one to the Cybers. I normally would frown on segregation, but given how bloody this war is, perhaps it would be best for everyone. Of course, to recognize Cybers as a political entity would mean the Naturals would lose half their sovereignty, and they would rather die than share their wealth.**

**I have completed installing the program into the EVE prototypes and injected them into the first specimen. Her name is Ana, Female, and had been fully cyberized since the age of eight. Since most of her essential organs are absent, I expect she will die without any prolonged suffering. She did not fight as I administered the nanoes. Still, I had Mistra and Vaska hold her down, just to be safe. I will update as she progresses through the three stages of the EVE infection.**

_Experimenting on live people. I am discovering some irreconcilable differences here._

**Day Thirty-nine on Tseres IV.**

**The initial stages went by unnoticed. The first stage is what I call the Replication Stage, where the nanoes replicate themselves using base metals in the host body and surrounding blood, coolant and assorted other liquids. They also utilize electrolytes for their energy source. Once the nanoes reach critical mass of approximately twelve parts per billion, the second stage will have begun.**

_I'm sorry Tana, this isn't going to work out._

**Day Fourty-seven on Tseres IV.**

**The second stage has finally begun. It is called the Dissolution Stage, where the nanoes begin to dissolve the base metals and convert them to their base molecules. The secondary stage is characterized by a change in fluid color and viscosity of the infected Cyber. Cognitive function becomes difficult, and if there is a blood supply, it may become tainted, in which case death comes more swiftly. But since Ana was fully cyberized, her death will regrettably be slower. Despite the things I have done to her, she is remarkably civil towards me. She says she is not afraid to die. **

_It's not you, it's me._

**However, I hear her crying at night.**

_Okay, it __is__ you._

**Day Sixty-three on Tseres IV.**

**I had no idea how slow the dissolution process was going to take on a fully cyberized individual. She lost cognitive function days ago, but her natural body fought tooth and nail to preserve the reptilian part of her brain. In the end, she ... bled out her dissolved molecules. Bled! What am I talking about? It was a thick sludge that looked very much like blood that oxidized quickly once it contacted air. I know it isn't actually blood, but the look of it. It makes me question if what I am doing is unethical.**

_It took you this long to question your actions on whether they were ethical?_ Geordi was beginning to feel a little sick to his stomach.

**It doesn't matter if it is ethical or not - They are converting our prisoners of war against their will. We are merely retaliating in kind.**

_Good old whataboutism at its finest._ He glanced down at his coffee cup. He didn't much care to finish it.

**She told me something peculiar before she died. She said she would be twenty-six next week. I am not sure what she meant to do by telling me that - she knew she would die before then.**

_She was trying to appeal to your better nature. Smart as you are, you couldn't figure that out?_

**I'm just doing my job! Besides, I... I don't know. I have to report to Central Command on the success of EVE.**

He heard her inhale shakily.

**With luck, my next entry will be regarding the mass production of the EVE nanoes and the best method of its distribution. Then I can get off this rock and go home.**

_It might be premature to say this, but I think Ana's plan worked._

The automated voice of the computer heralded the recorder's end. "End Data Recorder translation."

Geordi exhaled and leaned back. He looked at the ceiling of his quarters, but his mind was fixed in the distant past. Tana. Vaska. Mistra. Noreen. Ana. Cybers, Naturals. EVE. Well, he got what he was looking for - all the answers Starfleet would care about was practically gift-wrapped. But now he had more Questions.

Did Tana have a change of heart? What about Vaska and Mistra? Did they hand over the data and win the war? Did they die warm and comfortable on a Cyber-less planet? Or did they go renegade and fight for the Cybers?

With the Zephiian conference looming soon, he supposed there was no time to excavate the lower levels. He had to come to terms that he may never know the fate of these people.

"Damn shame." He said, then retired for the night.

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The next morning, Geordie shared the data recorder findings with the crew.

All the members of the Away Team were now present in the briefing room - Yar, Riker, Data, LaForge, and two science Ensigns. The meeting was called early once Picard heard Geordie had uncovered all the questions Starfleet had outlined as most pertinent information.

"Are you telling me you did all of this in your _spare time_?"

"I had to, sir." Geordi shrugged. "I was curious." He explained simply.

Picard chuckled. "Something I can understand and relate to. So, what have you learned?"

"They were fighting Cyberized versions of their own people, captain. The whole cause of the Cyber War stemmed from the bitter disagreement between whether Cybers should be forced to adhere to social requirements as the Naturals were, and whether Cyberization should continue in their culture."

"The Naturals felt subjugated by Nutritional Regulations and Reproductive Requirements. Since the Cybers were considered socially unimportant, they were pretty much free to do whatever they wanted. A double edged sword- they had no representation, but they weren't regulated by State, either."

Picard placed his hands behind his head in thought. "It would seem to reason that being Cyberized would be more of a benefit than a hindrance."

"Exactly! Those who wanted more freedoms simply traded in their organs for parts and the Cybers reaped the financial benefit of cyberization. With their new found wealth and growing numbers, the Cybers became an opposing power, and the Naturals considered it a threat to their established order. As a result, the Ruling Board made the conversion from natural to cybernetic illegal. The Board claimed it was to preserve rapid population decline. They claimed to be on the verge of extinction."

"And I am sure that the threat of losing power had nothing to do with it." Picard added sarcastically. "On the verge of extinction, so they wage war on each other." He shook his head at the shame of it all. "Am I to understand the weapons were developed to combat the Cybers?"

"Negative, captain. The weapons facility was shut down decades before the war, after they were considered obsolete and software, that is to say viruses, malware and spyware, became their preferred weapons of choice."

"Against the Cybers?"

"Correct."

"From weapons to software. A small step in the right direction." Picard mumbled.

Data blinked repetitively, analyzing his captain's reasoning at record speed. _It is primitive to construct weapons to harm other living entities. But a program designed to harm cyberbiotic individuals and artificial entities is advancement. Fascinating. Perhaps Captain Picard's biased view stems from his experience in being assimilated into the Borg? I do not wish to lose respect for my commanding officer. His statement was broad enough to interpret his statement in other ways, so will choose to interpret his statement to mean that the decision to abandon traditional projectile weaponry was a step forward in terms that 50% of the population was no longer under immediate threat of unconscionable violence._

"Although there was no evidence of Borg involvement, the Cybers were Borg-like in that they forced conversion on captured prisoners of war."

"Assimilation and torture." Picard summarized.

"Assimilation in a manner of speaking, but not torture. Geordi tells me they were liberating the naturals from their oppressors. Full cyberization would grant them the freedoms they could not exercise as a natural."

"Data, when someone is forced to give up parts of himself against his will, that is the_ epitome of Torture_!"

"Understood, sir."

"Good." He exhaled. "This Professor Tana. Why was she in an abandoned weapons manufacturing plant if weapons were obsolete?"

"She was assigned to the plant in secret. It was being used as a lab to design nano technology that would..." Riker fought for the right words. "essentially behave as an artificial bacterial infection. The nanoes would dissolve away any foreign materials that lacked a double helix."

"A way of attacking only the mechanical parts, while leaving the flesh intact?"

"Yes, however that was still lethal to the Cybers, since most of the organs required for sustaining natural life were removed when they were converted. A reverse-assimilation, as it were."

Picard exhaled at the mind-numbing absurdity revealed within the blossoming history of the Tseres system. He was momentarily rendered dumbfounded. What a vicious cycle they had generated, and unable to end it, it snowballed out of control until nothing was left but the Data Recorder. "Like a snake consuming itself." He whispered to himself.

"Good job, team!" He clasped his hands together and rewarded his crew with a smile. "You finished your assessment in record time. Send all the findings to the Xeno Archaeological Institute. I want a copy of that report on my desk tomorrow. Dismissed!"

The crew made their way back to the bridge and took their stations.

"Data, set a course for the Zephiian homeworld, warp four."

"Aye ca-" A tickle in his throat caught him off guard. He cleared it. "Aye, captain." He swallowed and set course. He analyzed the flavor of the nutritional liquid for a second. It found its way into his mouth and seemed normal, save for the fact there was an overabundance of it. Usually there was just enough to keep the synthetic nasal membranes moist enough for him to smell. "Course laid."

Perhaps he had consumed too much the last time he topped off? He found that unlikely, since he calculated his nutritional requirement and only consumed the exact amount needed. But he could not generate his own, so he must have made a mathematical error. As Sherlock Holmes had once put it, "Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth."

No matter how improbable that was.

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	4. Chapter 4: It's Good To See You Again

**Chapter 4: **  
**.**  
**It's Very Good To See You Again**

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Tasha Yar sat alone, slowly stabbing her slice of chocolate cheesecake with her fork for the umpteenth time. She eyed Ensign Bel Cito as he laughed loudly from across Ten-Forward.

He had entered the lounge shortly after she did, and immediately made a B-line for the sensual Laureli Lazulia, who had the most dazzling smile and a figure that could make any woman die of jealousy. She wore her hair up today.

Tasha almost left, not being able to bear the thought of sharing the same room with him. But a streak of stubborn defiance grabbed her by the nape of the neck and forced her to stay and hold her ground. She had every right to be in the lounge as much as he did. So she stayed, and for an hour she watched him schmooze the dark-haired beauty.

A tiny briar of jealousy took root within as she watched the courtship display. Why was it all the beautiful women were drowned in a sea of admirers? Where were the admirers of the strong women? She imagined they were either all hiding, too crippled by fear to approach her, or were too busy chasing beautiful to notice. She resisted a pout.

She saw him lean forward and say something to Laureli in a hushed tone, and the feminine goddess stifled a giggle. _Why can't I stop watching? Why am I torturing myself like this?_

"Hello, Tasha." Came Deanna Troi's warm voice from behind her. She looked over her shoulder at the ship's counselor. She was dressed in a beautiful purple silk dress, and her hair was braided and draped over her shoulders. She noticed there were synthetic flowers in her hair.

"Oh, hi Deanna." Tasha mumbled, then looked back down at her abused cake. She looked back at Ensign Bel Cito just as he leaned over and kissed his dinner mate. Her eyes narrowed for only a second. _Moved on that quickly, did you?_

"May I join you?"

"Go right ahead."

Deanna sat next to her, and Tasha caught scent of a delicate floral perfume. By the smell of it, it was very expensive. "So, how do you like being back on the Enterprise?" Deanna's dark eyes were framed with thick lashes against pale and high cheekbones. Yar recognized she was a remarkably attractive woman - absolutely everything she had always aspired to be as a grubby little girl on the streets of Turkana IV.

"It's nice. It's been a pleasure to see old faces. I've missed a lot." She hid a wince as she heard Bel Cito laugh again.

"I could catch you up to speed, if you'd like." She inhaled in thought and licked her full red lips, mentally tallying the pertinent changes that took pace in Leutenant Yar's absence. "Wesley Crusher is off to Academy. O'Brien is married to Keiko and they have a daughter, Molly. Worf's son Alexander came to live with him on the ship."

"Wait a minute, Worf has a _son_?"

Deanna flashed a gorgeous smile and nodded. "He adores him, though Klingons don't generally display their affections openly."

Tasha chuckled. "I never saw Worf as the fatherly type."

"No one did. He surprised us all. He is a good father to Alexander."

Tasha had never found the Klingon to be particularly handsome. Her attraction was always for more human-like shapes. But knowing he was a good father had a slightly swaying effect on her; Having lost her own family at a young age, she yearned to build one of her own some day. But she didn't want to sacrifice her career for a family, which she felt would deserve her full attention, so any dreams at starting a family went to the very far back burner. Besides, she couldn't seem to get the relationship part down. Speaking of which, Cito was now rubbing miss Lazulia's leg from under the table.

"And how are you doing?" Deanna's voice ripped her from her miserable reverie.

"I'm sorry?"

"How are you?" She gave Tasha a sidelong, knowing look. "Relationship problems?" She watched as Yar looked back to Cito's table, the expression of despair on her face. "Or is it a recent lack of them?"

"You noticed that?" Her fingers were gently tapping the table, a nervous tick she'd had since she was a child.

"I noticed your brutally murdered cheesecake."

For the first time she looked at what was in front of her and blinked. She didn't actually remember ordering it. It had lost its shape from the dozens of tiny holes that now marred its once smooth surface. "You know, I don't even remember how I got this? I don't even like chocolate."

"You're not going to eat it?" The thought of anyone not eating chocolate was more alien than an Antedean.

Tasha slid the plate to Deanna, who cheerfully cut into it with the fork.

"Mmm." Deanna exclaimed with eyes closed. It gave Tasha the opportunity to admire Deanna's face. _Why can't I be that beautiful? Or at least find someone who didn't hold beauty in such high regard?_

Deanna's eyes opened. "So why did you break it off, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He's too needy." She summarized, then catching Troi's expression, extrapolated. "He was always so wrapped up in himself and feeling either insecure or angry that he never cared about how that affected me. He'd accuse me of being unfeeling and..." She looked down and sighed. "For a few minutes I wondered if I felt anything for him at all. He just exhausted me."

"It sounds like you did the right thing for yourself."

"I did." She stole another glance at the blossoming couple ahead of her. "And it looks like he's moved on already."

"And that bothers you."

"I did love him, once."

"Once." Troi echoed.

"You know, my first boyfriend had serious anger issues. He thought he could get away with abusing me. After I finished my first security training course, we got into a fight and I wiped the floor with him. It was the most exhilarating and freeing moment I had ever experienced. We broke up, and the next one was always depressed, and he was dragging me down with him. I almost quit Starfleet, and left the Enterprise because of it. And then I meet Bel Cito, and he's like a Frankenstein mash up of my previous two failures."

She was tapping the table again. "Why can't I find a man who is..." She struggled to find the word. Not constantly miserable and not constantly angry. What was that called?

"_Stable?_" Deanna added.

"I suppose that's too much to ask these days." She inhaled deeply. "It's late, and I have a training seminar in the morning. I need to get some sleep. Thank you for listening."

"Any time." Deanna smiled and watched the blond as she retreated from Ten-Forward.

"Tasha."

The security officer stopped and turned.

"It's very good to see you again."

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The Zephiians were an amphibious race with smooth, blue skin, white stripes and sharply ridged fins that ran from forearms to elbows. A long dorsal fin topped their head and gave Picard the impression he was speaking with Marlins.

High Chief Jix and High Chief Bolan bowed toward captain Picard in perfect unison to one another. Picard bowed in kind, then raised to see their outraged faces.

"You are bowing too low!" Jix exclaimed, then lifted his sharp nose in the air.

"A bow shows respect. A deep bow signifies tyranny in the recipient." Bolan explained.

"My apologies, Chief Jix, Chief Bolan. On behalf of Starfleet, we wou-"

"No! You must address us as _Jix Bolan_, not Jix and Bolan. And you must not apologize if an offensive act was unintentional. That is The Way."

"I understand." Picard finished for them and smiled warmly. They nodded in approval.

Riker was standing behind the two chiefs with his hands clasped behind his back, sporting a mischievous grin. The chiefs refused to interact with anyone other than the captain himself, as was The Way, and Riker was delighted to learn that he, along with everyone else on board, was barred from interacting directly with them.

"On behalf of Starfleet, we would like to extend our thanks in allowing us to deliver your acceptance speech to the United Federation of Planets."

"We should begin immediately. All business must be performed before mid-day."

"Let me guess, it is The Way."

"Yes!"

"Well then, allow me to escort you to the briefing room, where we may begin." He extended his hand to the door, and the two Zepphians shuffled out of the transporter room.

Riker was still smiling happily, and Picard awarded him with a roll of his eyes. "Oh, quit gloating."

"Have a pleasant afternoon, captain!"

Picard snorted. "Keep that up and I'll have you training the new staff."

Finding the threat idle, Riker never broke his smile.

Picard left the transporter room in a slow walk. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.

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Commander Data's internal diagnostic had just finished, and he was operating within normal parameters. However, his fluidic levels were low again, and his electrolytes were imbalanced.

"Feline supplement number twenty-two."

Spot mewed her usual thanks, and Data offered an affectionate scratch behind the ears.

"Fluidic supplement number one, mint flavor, electrolyte level 9."

He grabbed the mug and sipped it slowly.

This was the third time today that he had to compensate for the loss of fluid. His "runny nose," as Deanna Troi had described it, was becoming commonplace enough that crew members were taking notice and commenting on it. He calculated he was losing about 240 millilitres of fluid, and he replaced that exact amount throughout the day. And still his levels reported low and electrolyte balance off by day's end. He suspected a leak, but found no evidence of one. Understandably, he was growing suspicious of his internal diagnostic's accuracy.

He made it a point to ask Geordi to help him with a full diagnostic the next time he was in Engineering. As for now, Geordi was off-duty, and Data was looking forward to dreaming.

When his mug was finished, he laid stiff as a board on his bed and clicked off his primary cognitive function.

It didn't take long before the bridge of the Enterprise phased into existence around him. It was a common starting point for most of his dreams; Last time he was standing at Ops singing a duet with Frank Sinatra. This time He was manning the bridge alone from the captain's chair. His paintings were neatly placed around the bridge, and he was solving a puzzle on the captain's computer when a small hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Hello." A familiar voice said. Data glanced over his shoulder to utter his standard greeting. Through his periphery vision he could see a dark-haired girl was sitting at the edge of the First Officer's seat next to him. She was well-groomed with her hair neatly trimmed. She was dressed in a simple grey outfit that began at her collarbone and extended to her ankles. Her features were average but delicate and feminine, and her eyes were as equally dark as her hair. There was a gentle wisdom to her, as if she knew something the observer didn't, much like the Mona Lisa's immortal presence. "Did you miss me?"

"I often notice the lack of your sensory input pattern in my mental pathways."

She smiled at the reply. She felt the softness of the chair, then glanced around the room at all the assorted objects placed within, many of them she recognized. "This is a wonderful place Dr. Soong has given you."

"It is used frequently," He replied. He hesitated to say her name at first as if his dream would suddenly shift if he uttered it, and she would disappear. "Lal." She cocked her head to the side at her name, a movement he recognized as his own.

"May I ask what you are doing here?"

"I came to see you. Do you find it intrusive? Do you want me to go?" She rose to leave.

"No." He grabbed her arm. "I did not mean to imply you were unwelcome. I would very much like for you to stay."

She settled back into her chair. "I am relieved."

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He blinked repeatedly. "I seem to be experiencing a partial system collapse in my communication pathways."

"Then perhaps you should wait." She placed a hand on his own. "Until it is operational again."

A moment of silence passed between them. They stayed unmoving, still as statues, hands clasped together. Then his communication system blipped back to life.

"Lal, after your operation system failed, I did not communicate to you that my inability to prevent your cascading failure was a reflection of my effectiveness as your father. But there was not enough time to relay that message."

"You were unprepared."

"I still focus on that condition. For this reason I have not attempted to build any more Androids. If I could not prevent your malfunction, I should not attempt to repeat the endeavor."

"You attribute complex systems behaving erratically as personal failure. This is false. You desire kinship of your likeness but deny yourself. This is also false."

"Regardless. I want you to know that I installed your memories into my neural net. I did not want your experiences to cease to exist."

"I know you have."

"I fail to see how you would be aware without any sensors or networks with which to perceive your storage."

"For a time I was not aware. When you downloaded me, you installed an electromagnetic barrier to preserve the boundaries between my experiences and your own."

"I did not want to confuse our experiences by meshing them together. That would in effect erase you."

"Yes. And electromagnetism attracts more energy. Memories are bits of information, stored energy themselves. Thoughts are also electric at the quantum level, as is consciousness. Your neural net permits a level of electricity to travel without damage to your systems."

His brows creased slightly as realization slowly dawned. "I have noticed subtle relocation of information."

"I try to leave them undisturbed, but some transfer is inevitable. Does this anger you?"

"I am incapable of feeling anger."

"Then you will permit me to continue?"

"I prefer to designate a neural pathway for you to explore. I will download information you may find of interest within those pathways."

She gifted him with a heartfelt smile. "Thank you, father."

She touched her forehead to his. "It is good to see you again, my daughter."

"You are due to reactivate soon."

"You should know I can delay my reactivation even while in this state."

"No, you can not. That function has been dissolved."

His dream sequence ended abruptly as his internal chronometer indicated it was time to switch on his primary cognitive functions. His eyes opened, and he sat upright in his bed at a perfect 90 degree angle and upset spot, who had chosen his chest as her resting perch. His sudden movement caused her to leap across the room, arch her back, and hiss at the inexcusable outrage of being awakened.

A feather-light sensation of pressure started from within his nose and slowly wormed its way downwards, pooling in the philtrum of his upper lip. He wiped at it. And then the sensation returned, and he wiped again. Vibrant color caught his eye, and he froze. More nutritional liquid smeared his fingers, but it wasn't the clear liquid of his healthy system. It was opaque and dark, thick and red as a cardassian fire ruby.

Another internal diagnostic revealed yet again low electrolyte and fluidic levels - this time considerably lower than when he went to sleep -, but no evidence of foreign contaminant. But the liquid leaking from his nose was still miscolored, so he reasoned his diagnostic hadn't detected the malady.

Bacterial infection was the likely culprit. He knew several strains that turned liquids red, and most of them were susceptible to heat. He shut his eyes._ Increasing core temperature to 104 degrees F._ He felt his system respond to his command, and his core temperature slowly began to rise from its human-friendly 98.6 to a formidable 104. Any higher, and he could risk fusing the more delicate circuitry in his neural net.

A few days of that, and the infection should clear.

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	5. Chapter 5: Dissolusion

**Chapter 5: Dissolution**

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Commander Data spent his day in a dual state of thought, where 50% of his attention was on his duty and the other was hopelessly fixated on his dream of Lal and his inner debate as to whether it was a legitimate interaction. Was her confession of developing a consciousness a mere random creative expression that his dreams were known to produce? Or was she really existing in a state of intuitive awareness within his neural pathways?

He believed the answer to his question would be whether the evidence supported her statement: She had said she was navigating his neural net and unintentionally relocating bits of information as she went. Was there any evidence to back this statement?

On one hand, over the course of several months he had noticed that there was a very subtle disturbance of his carefully and neatly organized network of information. But that alone was not concrete proof that Lal was the culprit; information migration was a natural function of his neural net. His pathways allowed moderate relocation of the most commonly referenced data to facilitate quicker information retrieval times and energy preservation.

On the other hand, some information that migrated wasn't frequently accessed. It was like finding a neglected snow globe that was once in a closet on your living room floor. Rarely noticed and oddly misplaced, as if someone had rummaged through old belongings in search of something. But there was so little instances where that did happen that it could have been circumstantial evidence, and not direct evidence. So he had to rely on another method to prove or disprove her evolution.

She had said his ability to extend his dream sequence from the inside had been 'dissolved'. And he was indeed unable to extend the sequence, and as a result she disappeared before his eyes and the dream ended shortly after her statement.

But was that just a part of his dream, and not reflective of reality? It was a conundrum that left him deeply curious and obsessive. He supposed there simply wasn't enough evidence to lean one way or the other with regards to Lal's conscious being. Without a definitive answer, he would have to experiment when he dreamed again later tonight. Until then, there was no logic in continuing the supposition. With his internal debate having been delayed, he focused on his duties at the Helm.

They had another assignment in order: Try to act as mediator on the Haven station between the Steward and its Department of Security, whose disagreement between how to handle the out-of-control smuggling of imported spices was creating a dangerous rift within the government. They were to report to Haven once the Zephiians had concluded their acceptance into the United Federation of Planets. The speech had been delivered and received well, after which the Cheifs Jix Bolan retired to their quarters. They were to lay in a course to Haven the moment they left the ship. Needless to say it allowed a moment of idleness among the Enterprise crew.

Data could hear Captain Picard engaged in casual conversation. The current topic was how a mere handfuls of individuals could unknowingly influence future events hundreds of years later through innovation and personal passions alone, and eventually change the course of society.

"Throughout human history you can see the first knell of the concept of the prime directive, even before space travel was realized. Dziga Vertov, for example, believed that cameras were to be as unobtrusive as possible, so that it could capture the observed in a more natural element. An interesting character. He was so absorbed with the idea of documenting the every day activities of people that he likened himself to essentially _be_ the very tool he used."

"I, the machine, show you a world the way only I can see it. I free myself for today and forever from human immobility." Riker quoted.

The ambient conversation of the bridge slowly faded away as Data suddenly became immersed in his own intimate affairs.

"My internal floatation device has shut down." Data whispered.

He had felt a very soft _click_ as its activation trigger became inaccessible. A quick diagnostic revealed he was operating under normal parameters. But the recent turn of events now cast doubt on his diagnostic's accuracy. He slid the com controls away. "Captain, requesting permission to leave the bridge."

"For what purpose?" Captain Picard sat cross-legged in the captain's chair, finger curled over his lip.

"I believe I am malfunctioning. I would like to go to engineering and run a full diagnostic."

"Permission granted."

Picard watched as he rose from his station, and made a double-take as commander Data exited the bridge. The android looked as though he had just broken his nose. He leaned to Riker as the turbolift doors closed. "Number One, was that blood?"

"Looked like it, but he doesn't have blood. Maybe he's playing with fluid coloring. To make himself appear more human."

Picard nodded. That was likely it; his machinations in an attempt to imitate humans were limitless. Coloring fluid red would be a very _Data_ thing to do.

"Mr. Worf, Are the Zephiians still in their quarters?"

"Negative. Sensors show they left their quarters an hour ago. Their current location is on Holodeck 2."

"The Holodeck, captain? I thought Zephiians were against entertainment. That it wasn't The Way."

"You know the old saying Number One; 'Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue.'"

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He made his way down the corridors in long-legged strides, passing by numerous crew members. As he approached Engineering, he could hear Geordi chastising Ensign Cito for using - and losing - his tricorder, which from the sounds of it was a common occurence.

"No one touches my tricorder! I just organized all of its settings exactly the way I wanted it. I even programmed it so it can load its screen into my visor in a pinch. Where is your tricorder?"

"I lost it."

"Again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is it in the Jeffries Tube on deck 8?"

"Why would it be there?"

"You were assigned to replace a ventilation manifold on deck 8 early this morning, which is only accessible by Jeffries tube. You did repair the manifold like I ordered?"

"I did. But I wouldn't know if it was there since I just discovered with you it isn't here."

"Ensign Cito." Geordi's voice was beginning to lower with each minute of inactivity.

"Chief?"

"Go find it!" Geordi growled.

"Yes, sir!" Cito hastily left engineering. As he rounded the corner, he smacked face-first into a brick wall. Or what felt like a brick wall. He staggered back and looked up, then proceeded to vomit up his heart. "Excuse me Commander!" He gasped and rushed past the tall android. Data watched in bewilderment as the ensign made his hasty escape down the corridor.

He heard Geordi chuckle from inside engineering. "He's intimidated by you."

"Why would ensign Cito be intimidated by me?"

"Not sure, but he gets awful quiet when you're around. So what can I do for you, commander?"

"I need to run a full diagnostic and flush my fluidic system. I would appreciate your assistance with this endeavor."

"Sure thing. Looks like you have some discoloration there."

"I anticipate it is an infection within my central canal."

"An infection? You mean like bacterial?"

"Affirmative."

"I didn't think you could get those."

"On the contrary, a myriad of bacteria prefer warm, liquid and nutritional environments to reproduce itself, so I am constantly at risk of infection as humans are. But since most bacterium are susceptible to prolonged exposure to heat, I am able to successfully combat nearly any infection I may contract through manipulating my internal core temperature. However, this self-defense mechanism has failed to combat the infection. Since I can not increase my temperature any higher without risk of damaging my neural net, I will require complete fluid replacement and a therapeutic dose of antibiotic."

Geordi positioned the chief engineer's chair in between the table and command panel. "I can help you with everything except the antibiotic." He set up the diagnostic menu on the ship's computer. "An android with a head cold. All right, we're set. Let's get you hooked up." He reached underneath the engineering table and unwound a multi-colored wire. He plugged it into the ship's diagnostic computer as Data opened the panel covering his posintronic brain case. With the connection set firmly in place, Data sat in the Head Engineer's seat.

"Meningitis."

"What about it?"

"If my affliction were to be translated into human physiology, since the infection is within my central canal, I would have Meningitis, not a cold."

"Let's thank our stars you're not human then. Okay... Starting diagnostic now."

A few seconds passed before Geordi let out a tsk.

"Your internal diagnostics are definitely not functioning properly, Data. Your readings are _real_ wonky."

"That would explain why I consistently thought my fluidic levels and electrolytes were low, but continued to drain excess."

"Well according to this they _are_ low and imbalanced. Let's see if we can sort you out." He hovered a tricorder over Data's trunk. "Hmmm. I can see there are a couple background programs that aren't registering." He tapped on the tricorder and changed menus. "Damn this thing. I'm ready to throw Ensign Cito out the airlock for losing my tricorder. He knows I hate it when he uses mine." The tricorder finished its calculation and scan. He eyed the readings.

"Usually I can pick up code and inactive programs and hardware structures. There are definitely features missing. I'm not finding your flotation device either." Geordi resisted the urge to laugh at the thought. Dr. Soong had a sense of humor he failed to pass onto his protégé; his mischievous humor made itself evident at some of the more obscure little features Data possessed. Jokes installed in a machine that didn't understand humor - that was irony.

"You know Data, if I didn't have detailed records of all your assorted features, I'd never know these existed at all." He handed the tricorder to Data, who reviewed the list.

"This is an extensive list. However they are non-essential in nature."

"Still, we can't let this go on, it could be only a matter of time before your critical functions start to go offline. You didn't try to download anything recently, did you?"

"I downloaded several compressed files of various themes from the Enterprise's database." Earlier in the day he had reserved a pathway in his neural net with which Lal could maneuver; and within those pathways led to the different downloads he thought she would find most intriguing and provoke psychological development. Assuming that she was indeed self-aware, of course.

"Anything else?"

"Negative." He paused, reminded of Lal's parting words. "Geordi. Is there any evidence that these features may have been dissolved, as opposed to having collapsed or gone offline?"

"_Dissolved?_"

"I had a dream where I was conversing with Lal, who stated a program of mine dissolved. I have yet to conclude the accuracy of that statement, however I thought it worth investigating."

"I suppose that's possible. Professor Tana's EVE virus dissolved mechanical components, you don't think you're infected somehow, do you?"

"I have considered that possibility; however, successful preservation of the virus for such a long duration is improbable."

"Well, if it was in your system, we should be able to detect it." He studied the results on the terminal. "There's a lot of static in this thing, and I am getting some odd readings, but I'm not picking up any Nanoes."

He tapped a sequence into the the control panel, and the cable attached to Data's braincase grew dim with inactivity. Data detached it from his skull and rolled it into a neat ring. "Maybe the bacterial infection is the culprit. If it managed to permeate the walls of your fluidic tubing it might have gummed up your works."

"If that is the case, an antibiotic may not be enough to combat the infection."

"You could always sit in the warp core, that would take care of it."

"I prefer not to use high levels of gamma radiation as a prophylactic."

Geordi laughed. "I was joking. Come on, let's give you a fluid change."

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.

.

the Zephiians made their leave, and Captain Picard was careful to bow in exact timing to theirs - not too shallow, not too deeply, and watched them phase from view as they were energized. Tasha stood behind him, stock-still in military stance. "So we're on to the Haven Station, then?" She asked, following him out of the transporter room. She was covering for Data at the helm while he was undergoing a full diagnostic. She hoped he was all right. Now with the Zephiians gone, she could lay in a course once back on the bridge.

"And not a moment too soon."

"Captain, I viewed the report and history of the Haven Station. It shares a similarity to the Turkana system before its social collapse. I'm worried about the residents and how the Spice smuggling will continue to affect them."

"As am I. The spice smuggling is collapsing not just its social order, but financial as well. But unlike the Turkana system, the Steward has personally requested mediation between him and the Head of Security. With our invitation, we have an opportunity to prevent another disaster like Turkana."

"I would like to sit in with the mediation, if you will allow."

"I will not. The invitation was extended solely to Captain and First Officer." He stopped just short of the turbo-lift. "But I understand that you have valuable first-hand experience on the subject, so I will allow you to review the recordings. I would appreciate your input in the matter."

"Bridge." He announced, and the Turbo-lift closed behind them. It hummed to life as it began its ascent.

The sense of being an asset made Tasha smile. "Thank you, captain."

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"I don't much care for Andorian silk. For all that puffery about it, it tears and unravels, and doesn't take to dyes well." Laureli said, inspecting one vibrantly colored fingernail, which apparently had a disastrous chip in it, which Bel Cito had failed to notice - or care, even if he did. He was feeling antsy and upset, and waited for the opportunity to inject the contents of his day and thoughts on them _somewhere_ into her one-sided conversation.

He had spent nearly the entire afternoon climbing through the Jeffries Tubes of deck 8 to find the missing tricorder. He did find it eventually, but not before he developed sore elbows and knees and a rather nasty bump on the top of his head. Not to mention a backlog of duties. Geordi was much easier to get along with after the return of the tricorder to its over-protective owner, but he was still careful not to vex him further. Walking on eggshells was exhaustive work, but necessary for his self-esteem. Geordi's reprimands could sting, and Bel Cito knew when he deserved them. At least by the time he returned to engineering, The Android was gone.

"I want to stock up on some Klingon Leather. I know where I can get it at discount, and I know a Cardassian tailor who might buy some from me. I could charge him twenty percent extra."

"Oh?" He replied to spur her into talking further, but without much care for anything she had to actually say.

It wasn't that he disliked The Android: he respected the machine for possessing a vast amount of information that it shared freely. In fact, it was installed with so many human-friendly features it was an almost perfect accessory to anyone. And that was the real problem.

He never had any concern for Tasha cheating on him until they transferred together from _The Crecy_ to _The Enterprise._ He was excited to be accepted on to the flagship of Starfleet, as that represented a level of skill and accomplishment. But after meeting the Android and experiencing its unfeeling, coldly calculating and infuriating friendly demeanor, he couldn't deny the sudden feelings of inferiority that welled within him.

"Maybe combine the look with a few Ferengi Furs. They sold me some old Damon uniforms. For a race known to gyp people, I got a remarkable deal. I don't think they were very smart."

"Ah." He had tried conversing with it, once. It wasn't out of a desire to get to know it, more like an investigative attempt to figure out what Tasha had seen in it. He remembered he had asked it a question, but couldn't remember what it was he asked, and it quickly went off on theories of the nature of enlightenment. It was an interesting topic, but he had no way of replying to the machine's queries in any equally intelligent manner. It didn't take long for him to realize that compared to his own meager mental faculties, The Android was infinitely superior. Hell, he was even built taller, with wider shoulders with a more muscular frame than Bel Cito could ever hope to achieve. It was even his commanding officer. How could Tasha not desire something so successful?

"Noriki said that Bolian wares are dropping in price. I'd pick some up, but they are so unoriginal and dull. I want something more... feely!"

"Mm." Tasha had said it was because he wasn't human, couldn't give her a family, and was incapable of love. It was a straight-forward answer that should have settled the matter. But Tasha was so unfeeling herself that he wondered if the lack of emotion in the Android would even matter. That and she was curious and outgoing and intelligent, and the Android was a very engaging thing. How could she _not_ be tempted? She insisted she wasn't, but clearly she was, because they were no longer together!

Laureli was still going off about clothes, and the evening was dragging on at a snail's pace. There was no way of steering the conversation from her selfish focus on her profession, unless he changed the topic himself. He cleared his throat. "I am thinking that maybe I'll transfer back to _The Crecy_."

"What! Why?"

"I don't think I am so cut out for The Enterprise." The crew of the enterprise were snarky, quick to quip, short-tempered and remarkably sharp-witted and overworked. A shore leave would do them all wonders, especially for Tasha. It was no wonder she flourished in this environment; wasps needed their hive.

"You shine when they don't, they are jealous of you! You should stay." It was then that she noticed the bump on his head. "Oh, dear! You're hurt. When did that happen?"

"Earlier today. I spent almost all day crawling in the Jeffries Tubes."

"The Jeffries Tubes?" With the way she reacted, it was almost as if he had said 'sewers'. "Why would you do that?"

"It's a great workout. And I wanted to see if I can memorize it. I like to challenge myself."

"You are incredible." She batted her lashes in an overt display of sexual interest. He looked down to the floor, appearing humbly flattered.

"It is late, won't you come to bed?" She ran her hand suggestively down his arm that made him shiver.

He obliged to follow her, and within her warm embrace and artful ministrations, he felt little to nothing for the beautiful creature he had captured. Instead his thoughts continually drifted from Laureli back to a woman of the blond-haired, blue eyed variety. Did she miss him, he wondered?

Later that night he heard her speak softly from beside him. "With exception of leathers, I think most Betazoid fabrics are better. They flow with movement and are pleasing on the skin, don't you agree?"

"Oh yes." Came his automatic reply. Laeureli was a nice change from Tasha's scientifically nebulous conversations. With Laureli, he didn't feel like he had to indulge why he felt a certain way or analyze the nature of this and that to ponder the possibility of whatever. And yet, even with Laureli's clarity to see him as he really was, without Yar's often frustrating topics, he had never felt so bored before. He shut his eyes and tried to banish his ex from his thoughts, and drifted to sleep.

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"I'll have to replicate an antibiotic you can take orally. My hypo spray can't penetrate your fluid canal. This will just take a moment." Dr. Beverly Crusher disappeared into her lab.

Data observed his surroundings while he waited. He could see Crusher's assistant, Alyssa Ogawa, fiddling with a medical tricorder. A line in between her brows revealed a frustrated state. Her knuckles had turned white as she gripped the device tightly.

"Doctor, now this one is malfunctioning!" She complained. "How are we expected to treat patients if we can't tell what's affecting them?"

"Leeches and bloodletting?" She answered from inside her lab.

"I'll dust off the phrenology bust if you'll get the ipecac." Alyssa laughed.

Beverly emerged from her lab with a small bottle. "Ever since we had that mandatory tricorder departmentalization update, our tricorders have been on the fritz." She explained to Data. Starfleet had decided that tricorders would be programmed with only relevent data with relation to the class it belonged; an Engineering tricorder was no longer sufficient for medical use and vice-versa. They said it would increase efficiency, but thus far the updates only caused them to err.

She went to her computer and updated Data's medical file to reflect a prescribed antibiotic after suspected bacterial infection. It was a rare thing indeed to have him grace her Sick Bay with an ailment - mainly he went to engineering for such things - so his medical file was unusually short compared to the other crew members, and it had been nearly a year since an update.

"Would you like me to bring them to Engineering for repair, Doctor?"

"That would be great, Data. And here. Take thirty millilitres each dose every twelve hours for the next two days." She also handed him three tricorders.

"Now Data, are you sure you don't want me to look you over?"

"Thank you for your concern, but I have just completed a full system diagnostic and fluid replacement in engineering."

"If you're sure. But don't hesitate to come see me - some of your systems can be very similar to a human's physiology."

"I am aware of that, doctor." He gave her a polite nod and exited the Sick Bay. Crusher watched him as he left. He looked healthy enough, near as she could tell for a machine, but wondered if she should have been more assertive. Should she have ordered an evaluation? Data had said he and Geordi were confident it was a bacterial infection, and he was still running at 104 degrees, a wise decision she fully endorsed. ... Still, maybe she should have ordered him to stay. "Hmm."

"Something wrong, doctor?"

"You bet there's something wrong. Geordi is stealing my patients!"

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	6. Chapter 6: EVE

**Chapter 6: EVE**

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**.**

_Fluidic levels dangerously low._

_Electrolyte levels dangerously imbalanced._

_System power dangerously low. _

_Alternate source of power required._

_System shut down in 5 ... 4... 3... 2... 1..._

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_._

The shuttle bay was cool and dim compared to the well-lit space of the Bridge, and it was a welcome environmental change to the monotony of the day.

"I want to extend my gratitude to Starfleet for agreeing to mediate on this matter, Captain Picard." The Steward of Haven, Rayal, stepped down from his transport craft. He was a plump and jovial man with a distinct waddle to his walk. The Steward straightened his eggshell-colored robes, then quite suddenly lurched forward and hugged him. Tasha eyed the Steward critically, but backed away as Picard motioned with a hand and mouthed to her the words 'It's all right.'.

"Ah, well, I underst-" He coughed as the Steward squeezed him uncomfortably. The Steward released him and met his gaze. The look in his eyes was that of sheer hope. Confident he would not be unceremoniously hugged again, Picard recomposed himself."I understand the gravity of your situation, and will do everything in my power to see that you and your Head of Security can reach a mutually agreeable solution."

"Oh, that is good to hear." He wrung his hands as he and the captain exited the Shuttle Bay. "I am afraid the Head of Security, Batto, was most displeased with hearing I had invited you here. We are not a member of the United Federation of Planets or Starfleet, and he thinks you should not be involved. He perceives my request for mediation to be a sign of weakness on my part." He wiped his sweaty forehead with a heavily decorated cloth."But if you can help us resolve this tension, it will be worth the stain on my reputation as Steward."

"As I understand it, the Steward oversees all activities, including that of Security, is that not so?"

"Not entirely. It was for many centuries. However, over time our society unofficially adopted a more dualistic rule. Head of Security, and the Stewardship. To prevent a dictator from the Steward's position. That was a threat, once."

Picard and Steward Rayal walked side-by-side as they approached the Steward's quarters. "We are a proud race. We survived the destruction of our star system, and carved a life for ourselves out of this station. It is the last relic of our once mighty empire. It is our legacy. I will do everything I can to protect it, even if it means violating tradition to see it survives."

"There are times I find when tradition can inhibit progress. Laws and values, while inherently essential to any healthy society, may need to be compromised in times of hardship."

"You and I are in agreement, Picard. However I am afraid the Head of Security does not see it that way."

"His ship is due to arrive later this evening. I would like to collect a checklist of your proposals."

"And you will!" He replied, having reached his quarters. "Captain Picard, I bid you good evening, and wish you luck during tomorrow's mediation."

Picard gave him an acknowledging nod, and the portly fellow receded into his quarters.

Yar walked beside him, arms still folded behind her back.

"Were you able to detect anything alarming within this scenario yet, Leutenant Yar?" He would have been surprised if she had, but it didn't hurt to ask.

"Aside from being chronically stressed and having an eagerness to hug complete strangers? Not a thing. He seems to care a great deal for his people, enough to tarnish his reputation." They walked in silence for a moment. "I have never heard of a station that refuses outside ships to dock, or ban transporter technology."

"Considering the sheer volume of imports they receive. They believe the banning of alien ships and transporters help deter the illegal Spice Trade. They've even recently prohibited any and all ship travel except for trade purposes to minimize smuggling opportunities."

"_All_ travel, captain?"

"That's right."

Her eyes narrowed in thought. With the Head of Security opposed to accepting outside help to stop the Spice Trade ... "Did the Head of Security pitch that prohibition, by any chance?"

"He did, according to the historical records Rayal sent me." He regarded Tasha for a moment, then realization began to slowly seep its way in. "Oh don't tell me." He almost didn't believe it. He studied her for a moment. Just how did she come to that conclusion so damn quickly? "Are you implying the Head of Security...?"

"I'm sorry, captain." Tasha said simply. "But I already smell a rat."

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There was a sense of urgency and brief moment of disorientation and confusion before Data entered his dream scape. For a moment he wondered why he was there, but now there was a blank canvas in front of him and he needed to paint on it. He wasn't on the bridge this time; he was in his quarters and standing before a painter's easel. There was a palette in his right hand and a brush in his left. He began to debate with himself what he was going to paint when he heard a gurgling sound behind him.

He turned towards the sound. There, in the center of the floor of his living space, was a baby wrapped in a pink receiving blanket. He saw one chubby fist break free of the blanket's restraint, and it waved to and fro like a pendulum. He tentatively approached it, carefully balancing his palette and brush on the back of his chair.

He picked the baby up tenderly and held it against his chest. _Why is this in my dream?_ It began to fuss, and he bounced it gently as he had seen Keiko do to Molly, years before. It silenced and leaned its head back to take a better look at him. It was a female, and she had a delicate face, cherubic and round. He noticed the infant had familiar dark hair and eyes. It cooed at him when they made eye contact, and his eyebrows rose. His dreams always involved the things he engaged himself in while awake. For a baby to appear in it was a wildcard. "Lal."

"Yes, father?" A voice from nowhere and everywhere answered.

The baby wriggled in his arms. "Why is there a human infant in my dream?"

"You do not prefer me this way?"

"I prefer you as I knew you."

The baby disappeared. Lal materialized in front of him. He lowered his arms to his sides.

"Is the designated neural pathways and destinations I reserved for you satisfactory?"

She sat on the chair in front of him. "Yes. I found them thought provoking and inspiring. I wish to learn more, and I would like to request a topic of discovery."

"Anything." He knelt beside her.

"I would like for you to download enlightenment so that I may analyze it."

"I do not believe such a thing can be downloaded, Lal. I have difficulty grasping its concept, as I find it to be an ambiguous term."

She looked confused. "Yet achieving enlightenment is a common goal humans strive to obtain."

"It is a noble goal. However I question its existence."

"How does one obtain it if it can not be downloaded?"

"It is believed that enlightenment can only be obtained through education or religion."

"But I have accessed all data files you have stored within your neural net. I know many things, more than a human, and have read all religious texts. But I do not feel enlightened."

"I find both ignorance and acquired knowledge to be antagonistic in the pursuit of enlightenment. I have also found numerous religions advertise enlightenment, but disagree on what it is to be enlightened."

She blinked. "So, in terms of enlightenment, Education and Religion have equally opposing forces?"

"It would appear so."

"So, perhaps then enlightenment should be seen as the balance between its opposing forces, like numbers and integers balancing to equal zero?"

"Zero represents an absence."

"Which then implies that enlightenment does not exist." She folded her hands in her lap. She was still for a moment, unsettled. "I do not feel satisfied with this conclusion."

He could see she was distressed with the notion. Perhaps his own rudimentary understanding of that highly sought concept was false? If so, he should not discourage her from seeking such a monumental discovery.

"Perhaps there are other definitions for enlightenment not yet considered." Data offered.

"Yes. That must be it. I will look for more definitions and study them. Will you provide me the downloads to further my research?"

He nodded.

"Thank you!"

"You are welcome." He watched as her happy expression faded to deep concern. "Is something the matter?"

Laal studied him for a moment and frowned ever deeper, as if seeing something troublesome. "How are you feeling, father?"

"I am functioning within normal parameters."

"Are you certain?"

Data recognized her reply was a rhetorical question, a challenge to what he knew. "You believe I am not functioning properly?"

Her gaze was no longer locked on him, but through him, on something distant and unseen. "You are unaware that you are continuing to dissolve." She cocked her head to the side, eyes still fixed elsewhere. Data recognized the same expression in Deanna Troi when she was sensing something outside of herself and trying to understand it. "You did not enter this dream state willingly."

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"We were going to Ten Forward, he suddenly made a detour and ripped off the cover of a control panel. He said he needed power." Deanna explained as simply as she could. She remembered Data had managed to rip a single wire from the control pad underneath the panel, when he shut down unexpectedly. He fell backwards onto Deanna, where she cried for help, pinned under the android's weight and unable to reach her comm badge.

"He probably tried to route power directly from the Enterprise." Geordi reasoned, grabbing an extension cable from the Engineering table. That was a ballsy move; Data could have short-circuited his entire positronic brain with such a high voltage. Losing power wasn't so dangerous for him, he would merely stay inactive until power was routed back through. What made him think he needed to keep operating to the point of potentially permanently damaging himself?

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Data's brows creased together as he tried to think. Just how _did_ he come to be here? Each time he tried to access his memory files, he came up blank. "I must take your word for it, as I do not recall the events that transpired before arriving in this state."

"Father, you must route all power in your reserve to your Positronic Net. Your system is trying to operate on insufficient supply. The energy is spread too thin to support all functions." This was not a huge concern for Data with regards to mortality. He had gone offline many times before without negative consequence. Why was it now so essential?

Already, their surroundings were beginning to fade to a pale grey. Data recognized fear in her eyes as she watched the environment begin to fog. And then he understood the predicament they had found themselves. "You are afraid that if I have an insufficient level of energy, your new awareness may be compromised as a direct result."

"It relies on a constant supply of power. If you go offline, my current state of consciousness will cease to exist."

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"Damn it, everything is shutting down. Where is that converter?"

Deanna backed away from Data slowly in an attempt to distance herself from the strong emotions emenating from his shell. She knew he wasn't capable of feeling them, and yet there it was anyway.

There were many types of fear she had learned to detect in people, and this one was very specific; The fear of Death. It gave her the chills.

Geordi saw the look of worry on her face. "He'll be fine, Deanna. This isn't the first time something like this happened."

She shook her head. "I am sensing a great deal of fear from him."

"From _Data?_ That can't be right."

"But I _am_ sensing it. A very specific type of fear. A fear of death."

Ensign Cito handed Geordi the converter, listening intently to the conversation.

"Not to split hairs with you Counselor, but Data can't die since he isn't techincally alive, and he knows this. Pile on top of that an inability to feel and ... well, you've got to be mistaken."

"No. I am not wrong about this. The fear is coming from Data, he is convinced he will die. And he does not want to."

"Well, maybe this will help." Geordi attached the converter to the power extender and reached behind Data's head. He lifted the panel, then froze. "What in the...?" He grabbed his tricorder.

Cito leaned over Geordi's shoulder and stole a glance at Data's more intimate workings. He had _no idea_ what he was looking at. "What's wrong with it?"

"He should have a jack here that would allow an alternate power source." He hovered his engineering tricorder ever closer. Then exhaled at the weight of the readings. "It dissolved."

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"I have routed all reserve power to my positronic brain. You are safe for now." He reached to steady her shaking shoulders. Her lower lip trembled and tears brimmed in her eyes. She did not reply.

He watched her with interest. She lacked a body, and yet her visual form still displayed very human characteristics, functions and emotions. He knew she didn't need to, since her awareness was incorporeal in nature. Had he the capacity to feel touched that she still preferred his likeness, he would have been. But she was crying, and the rules of human interaction demanded he comfort.

"I don't want to die again." She whispered.

"I want you to know I will do everything in my power to preserve you."

A sad, hiccuping laugh escaped her still shaking frame.

"What do you find so amusing?"

"Nothing." She wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I told a joke." Data realized suddenly. "And you laughed."

She nodded, a smile breaking through.

"I said 'power' to mean capability, but you interpreted it in its literal form and its relevance to our situation, and you found it humorous despite being in an emotionally distressing predicament, where the telling of a joke would be considered inappropriate. And you laughed." For all the texts and interactions he had accumulated on humor, he still didn't understand how the Gorilla joke was unaccetable, but his poor use of vocabulary made Lal laugh.

A whole new set of tears began to well and spill over, and she buried her face in her hands.

"And now you are crying again." Stating his intention to preserve her and accidentally telling a joke did not seem to have the soothing effect he had expected. Instead it caused a bi-polar reaction. Did she not find his statement of intention satisfactory? Was it because he had failed to preserve her the first time, years before? He hesitated for a moment, wondering what he should do next. What did O'Brien do when Molly was emotionally compromised? A quick shuffle through his memory banks - a restored function at the cost of all others - revealed the solution. He wrapped his arms around her in a fatherly embrace.

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The range of emotions she felt in that short amount of time was incredible: Fear, humor, love and disappointment, and the desperate need for comfort. She grabbed Data's right hand and held it in her own. She watched Geordi and Cito talk about pulling out an internal wire deep within Data's left forearm that could be used to route power into him.

"If it doesn't harm it to be inactive, why don't we find the problem, fix it, then reactivate it?" Cito asked honestly.

"Because if Counselor Troi was right and _Commander Data_ doesn't want to go offline for fear that _he_ may die, then I have to accept the possibility that he may know something about what's going on that we don't know. So re-establishing communication with him would be a good idea."

"Understood." Ensign Cito grabbed the micro laser and powered it up.

"Good. Now we're going to activate the laser here, right along this line. And for God's sake, don't miss." Geordi said, watching as Cito positioned the microlaser. Cito's hands were steadier than Geordi's, who couldn't keep them from shaking at the moment. The thought of EVE being a modern threat made him tremble for his friend - and Enterprise. How many times had Data interfaced with the ship? Was Enterprise also infected?

Cito's hands remained ever steady and smooth as he began the incision along the length of the Android's forearm. Data's hand twitched suddenly in sensory response. Further incision made his entire body jerk and twitch, and Geordie held his arm steady so Ensign Cito could finish his work.

"That's weird for something that's basically offline." Cito observed casually. The tricorder readings showed dwindling power in his positronic brain. Aside from that, the rest of his body was deactivated.

A bright red bead began to well at the cut site, making a stark contrast between the bright white of his skin. Like a Garnet on white linen. It began to trail down Data's pale arm, pooled at the tip of his finger, then dripped onto the Engineering carpet.

"I thought _Commander Data_ didn't have blood." Cito mentioned, finishing the incision.

"He doesn't have blood. It's tainted fluid that helps him operate. You likely just nicked one of his fluidic tubes."

"It looks like blood to me."

He resisted the urge to deck Ensign Cito. He remembered professor Tana Anasa's observation about the blood-like fluid that permeated Ana's systems before she died. It looked like Data was in the same Dissolusion stage, and if he couldn't find a way to detect the Nanoes and stop them his friend would be sharing Ana's fate.

"You said his jack disintegrated." Deanna repeated, as if reading his mind. In fact she was sensing Geordi's immeasurable anxiety. "So he_ is_ infected with EVE."

Geordi swallowed. He hadn't detected any Nanoes. It was just a bacterial infection that made a few systems go offline. But here he was staring at something undeniably dissolved. "Yeah. It looks like it."

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	7. Chapter 7: The Science of a Secret

**Chapter 7: The Science of a Secret**

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"I just received word from Geordi and Deanna that Commander Data is currently inoperable. He is in engineering and Geordi is working now to reactivate him."

"What happened?" Riker asked.

"There's no definitive answer just yet, except that he lost power." Picard paused for only a second. "But Geordi believes he is infected with the EVE virus. Commander Data is to remain in engineering until La Forge can get him back online, and if indeed infected, remove the Nanoes." He looked to Doctor Crusher. "He will need to be placed on medical leave until then."

"How far is he into this infection? Assuming of course that he even has EVE?" Beverly asked.

"Based off the Professor Tana's memos, he would be well into the dissolution stage."

"In human terms, organ failure!" Dr. Crusher summarized for the rest of the crew. She should have ordered him to stay in Sick Bay! She should have listened to her instincts and insist she look him over... _But what would I have found with my medical tricorder? It wouldn't have picked up Nanoes, that would have required an Engineering tricorder._

"Didn't he just undergo a full diagnostic not too long ago? Why didn't Geordi detect this earlier?" Clearly, Riker was just as upset as Crusher.

"I can explain that." Dr. Crusher chimed in guiltily. "Data and Geordi were convinced he had a bacterial infection in his central fluid that was rendering some of his programs and features inoperational. There was no mentioning of suspicion of infection with EVE, so he must not have detected any Nanoes."_ And in that case, I wouldn't have detected them either, even if I had the right tricorder for the job._ There really was nothing she would have been able to do if she had forced a check-up or not.

"Captain, I request permission to relocate him to Sick Bay." There were plenty of power access points in the Sick Bay; the was no reason why he would need to stay in his current location, next to a loud engine and lacking the comforts needed for healing.

"Commander Data is an Android, and the best place for him is Engineering. I understand your desire to help, but he is exactly where he needs to be." She nodded somberly. She hated feeling useless.

"Until further notice, Leutenant Yar will be handling Security and Leutenant-Commander Worf will be resuming Commander Data's duties. You are all dismissed; I will be in my ready room."

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Leutenant Geordi had just finished attaching a device onto a power supply line that would allow Data to feed safely off the Enterprise's power. He slid it into the tubing within Data's arm and crossed his fingers.

"And we now have juice." Geordi watched Data's eyelids begin to twitch almost immediately. "Drink up, me hearty." He quoted.

It took only a second before the Second-in-Command sprung to life. He looked disoriented at first, observing his surroundings and wondering how he got there.

"Welcome back!" Geordi smiled. "What news of Davy Jones?"

"You equate my unconscious state to being at the bottom of the ocean. That is an intriguing analogy!"

Data attempted to walk forward, but upon moving his arm, he froze. His eyes grew large and round, and his mouth opened to form an 'O'. He lifted his left arm ever slowly and eyed it critically, and it began to tremble as he stared at it, as if some vicious invisible snake had been coiled around it.

"Your alternate power supply jack wasn't accessible. We had to improvise and route power to you through your arm instead. Given the circumstance, I didn't think you would mind."

Data exhaled loudly. "No, I do not mind Geordi. I am in your debt." He said, trying to regain composure. With his power returned, Lal was safe, and he was capable of helping Geordi understand the mechanics behind his power failure.

"Data, Was there a reason why you tried to route power from Enterprise without a converter to control the voltage?"

"I have recently... developed a f-feature that requires constant supply of power. I did not want it to..." He closed his eyes and his hands clenched into tight fists. His left arm continued to shake. "...disappear."

"Data if I didn't know any better I'd say you were in pain." Deanna commented, eyes dark and full of sympathy.

"I am incapable of feeling pain." He huffed suddenly. "But there is an unusual sensation in my arm that I can not adequately describe," He winced again as another jolt shot up his arm and made his body stiffen.

"I'll lower the voltage, maybe that will help." Geordi reached over to the tube and turned a small metal pin. "How's that?"

From the looks of it, it was no better. His eyes stayed closed. "I will adapt to this sensory stimulation." Perhaps instead of attempting to dominate the stimulation, he should attempt distraction. "Have you discovered any evidence to explain the reason behind my power failure?" He opened his eyes to see Deanna was still concerned. Fascinating - she had the same look that Lal did.

"Are you all right, Counselor?"

She opened her mouth to deliver the news of his discovered affliction, then stopped. She looked over to Geordi, who had seen the dissolved circuitry and thus made the diagnosis. He would have a better way of explaining it to Data in a manner he would understand. "You had better tell him."

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Captain Picard was in his ready room overlooking the list Steward Rayal had given him of his goals, when he heard a chime at his door.

"Enter." He answered, and Riker walked in, shoulders squared and back rigid.

"Captain. I'm requesting permission to take a shuttle craft to Tseres IV."

Picard eyed Riker for a moment before returning to the list. "Permission denied. We have a debate to mediate between Haven Station's Steward and Head of Security. I need you with me."

"Surely someone else can do it?"

"Just what do you expect to find there if you go, Will?" As he understood it, the archaeological dig had turned up barely anything of interest after Enterprise left. The shield generators and assorted parts in the lab were a dime-a-dozen, and didn't warrant further study. It seemed the only thing worthwhile on that planet was the data recorder and that damned Virus.

"I don't know, a cure, maybe another data recorder, field notes."

"I understand that you want to help Commander Data, everyone does. But you-"

"-With all due respect, sir. I don't think you do."

Picard's eyebrows raised at the accusation. He set his PADD down and waited in patient silence for Riker to explain his reasoning. Nearby, his lion fish fluttered inside its saltwater tank.

"I was reckless on Tseres IV and I am the reason why Data is stuck in Engineering. If I have even the slightest chance of helping him I would like to excercise it."

"Permission is still denied."

"Captain!"

"I will allow Leutenant Geordi to go to Tseres IV at your request." Riker opened his mouth to object. "And contrary to what you may think, Commander, I do understand your concern for Data but there are several thousand people on Haven Station who are in desperate need for their leaders to cooperate with each other. If we can resolve Haven's dispute, the Steward may consider allowing Starfleet to dock there regularly. So I _need you here_. and that will be all on the matter."

"Yes captain. Am I dismissed?"

"You are."

He waited for Riker to exit his ready room before he tapped his comm badge.

"Picard to La Forge."

"La Forge here."

"I want you to take a shuttle craft to Tseres IV, see if you can find anything that may alude to a cure for this virus."

"Aye Captain."

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Geordi folded his tricorder. Of all the extensive tests he performed, he still failed to find a single Nano. "I hate to do this, but I gotta leave you, buddy."

"There is no need to fret, Geordi. You already assessed that I am in a stable condition. I will remain here until you return."

_Like you could go anywhere else?_ Geordi thought grimly. "Yeah, well. Hopefully I'll find something to help you out." He nodded his goodbye to Deanna, and left Engineering.

She waited until she was confident Geordi was out of complete earshot before she spoke. "Data, I know you weren't completely offline while you were inactive."

"That is an accurate statement. I was dreaming at the time, counselor."

"Do you feel emotions when you dream?"

"I do not."

She bit her lower lip for a second, not buying his answer. "Data, I felt very distinct emotions from you when we were trying to reactivate you. Some of which were fear, love, humor, despair, and disappointment. You don't remember feeling these things?"

"I can not remember feeling them, as I was not the one harboring those emotions at the time they took place."

"Well if it wasn't you, then who was it?" She asked the question more to herself than to Data. She watched as he winced again. It reminded her of Lore's humanesque facial twitch.

He broke her gaze and looked down at the now red=stained carpet. "I would prefer not to say."

"Why not?"

"I have observed that all humans, regardless of their level of honesty, harbor at least one secret. In my attempt to emulate humans, I must politely decline to answer your inquiry. No one must know."

"But secrets are social things in nature, Data. You can't separate a secret from its natural setting without reducing it to a simple fact." That was true enough. But now titillated by the thought of learning a secret from Data - Just what kind of secrets would an Android keep? - made her stretch her own observational truths. "A fact must be shared with at least one other person before it can become a secret. And as your counselor, I can fulfill my promise to keep it secret."

"Interesting. You are advertising your professional obligation as a counselor to withhold information under the patient confidentiality clause, to illustrate your eligibility to alter the nature of my fact and evolve it into a secret." He bobbed his head again. "I did not consider the concept of a secret to be evolutionary." He met her eyes. "Very well. I will tell you."

Her smile lit her beautiful eyes.

"Over the course of several weeks, I have discovered relocated information in my Neural Net. Information migration is a natural function of my positronic brain, to enhance mental capabilities and maximize efficiency. However, some rarely accessed information was habitually misplaced. But since I could not ascertain why I was experiencing this phenomenon, and determined it was benign in nature, I chose to allow it to continue."

Deanna nodded in understanding, wondering just where he was going with his lengthy explanation.

"A few days ago, while in my dream state, I began to communicate with Lal. Do you remember her?"

"Your daughter? Data, of course I do." She remembered the inquisitive and charming Android, remembered the flattery of Lal's desire to look just like her, and felt the pang of loss as her systems failed.

"She explained that the electromagnetic field I placed around her core memories attracted enough energy that she developed a consciousness. She admitted to being responsible for the unintentional information relocation as she migrated through my neural net."

"Data, you're telling me that Lal is alive? Within you?"

"Alive in that she is self-aware. That was why I tried to siphon energy directly from _The Enterprise_. If I lost power, I would have essentially lost her as well."

"But that could have blown every circuit in your body!"

"That is correct." He winced again at the sensation in his arm.

"But if _The Enterprise_'s energy destroyed you, it would have destroyed the both of you."

"This is also correct, however she would have survived for approximately .27 seconds longer than I would have."

Deanna's mouth opened to express her profound astonishment, then shut it.

"For the parent to die before the offspring - That is the way humans prefer it." Data explained.

"So the emotions I felt coming from you, that was from Lal?"

"Indeed counselor. She is very..." Just how would he describe her? "..._dynamic_ with her emotions."

"Most young adults are." She laughed. "Data, are you sure you want to keep Lal a secret? The crew would be ecstatic to learn of her being alive. Within you." She corrected.

He glanced down again. "It is not my intention to deprive the crew of enjoyment, as I find they were growing quite fond of her." Another wince. "I did not realize that the sharing of a secret was also an exchange of one's power to choose to another's. It is a sign of trust, is it not?"

Deanna nodded.

"Perhaps it is a selfish request, but would you mind if I preferred to keep her for myself?"

"Don't worry Data," She answered, touched by his very intimate desire to keep Lal close. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you, counselor. I realize by telling you my fact, and by you evolving it into a secret, we can now discuss her and preserve the nature of the secret while further developing trust between the two of us. I can now understand the social appeal of secrets."

"Just don't keep too many." She joked. There were in fact many reasons one would keep a secret, one of which was to conceal behavior considered inappropriate by society. Those kinds of secrets stemmed from a fear of judgement and could be very dangerous. But since Data failed to feel fear, the nature behind his secret was a harmless desire to be more human.

He squinted. "Is Enterprise having trouble with its power supply as well, counselor?"

"It doesn't seem to be. May I ask why?"

"The room has lost 70% of its illumination within 4 minutes and 27 seconds."

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"Captain Picard, Commander Riker, I appreciate your offer but must decline." Batto said, but a slight curl of his upper lip indicated to the captain just _how_ appreciative he was. "Haven's security is the finest in this sector. We have a very specific way of doing things here, and your presence will only interfere."

"If you would allow just _one_ security officer to oversee?" Rayal pleaded.

"Steward Rayal, my officers and detectives have been working double shifts trying to get to the bottom of this smuggling operation, and you would have me wasting my time here debating how to do my job and Starfleet poking their noses in matters that do not concern them."

"With great respect to Security's hard work and dedication, there has been no progress in nearly three years and our people are suffering! I am merely trying to gain a fresh perspective."

"'No progress?' I must disagree with you, Steward. We were quickly reaching a breakthrough when you _dragged outsiders here_ to distract me and my men from pinpointing the party responsible for Spice Smuggling."

"And with equal respect, distraction was not my intention! And what of this 'breakthrough' you speak of? This is the first time you've mentioned it to me."

"If I may interject here," Riker said politely. "It would do best to stick with the facts, and not accuse either party of questionable intentions."

Both Rayal and Batto took in a deep breath.

"Now, Batto, you said you were at a critical point of making a breakthrough in this operation. A breakthrough that Rayal has yet to hear of. There must be good reason why you are withholding information from the Steward." Picard could see Batto was moving his jaw back and forth in frustrated thought.

"I fear disclosure of specific details would be detrimental to our efforts."

"That would imply that someone within my administration may be connected to smuggling." Rayal reasoned. "Batto, you must trust that I will not release any information you may uncover from your investigation. You and I share a mutual desire to rid the Station of this social blight, and I will hold your findings in strictest confidence."

_They both finally agreed to something. Now we are getting somewhere._ Picard thought to himself.

"I question your sincerity, Steward Rayal." Batto said simply. "I still will not disclose information."

"Why ever not?! You are Head of Security, aren't you? What prevents you from discussing sensitive topics to your Steward? I am inclined to think this 'breakthrough' an imaginary means to prevent your removal from your position."

Batto's eyes narrowed. "Imaginary?" His already shiny black eyes turning into dark marbles that bore into the Steward. "How dare you accuse me of such incompetence! My reasons behind withholding information is voluntary, that is true, but only for the reason that all clues thus far point to the responsible party being Haven's Beloved Steward himself, Rayal!"

Rayal's reaction was absolutely comical; He leaned back and opened his mouth. He inhaled slowly, as if suddenly choking, his face went red with fury, then pale as a sheet. "This is outrageous!" he squeaked.

"Another topic we agree on. I must say Captain Picard, your mediation skills are exemplary."

Picard snapped his head towards Batto, who was still shooting daggers with his eyes at Rayal. A small smirk tugged at the corner of the man's lips; apparently he found the Steward's reaction amusing.

_This accusation is absolute rubbish._ Picard thought. "I propose we call a break and reconvene."

"An excellent idea, Captain." The Steward said shakily, color still yet to return to his pale face.

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	8. Chapter 8: Return to Tseres IV

**Chapter 8: **

**Return to Tseres IV**

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The debate had gone south once Head of Security Batto had accused Steward Rayal of running the Spice Trade, and communication completely collapsed after Batto promised to arrest Rayal the moment he returned to Haven. Captain Picard and Riker successfully convinced them to put aside each other's suspicions and try again in the morning, prescribing sleep and cool heads. In honesty, it wasn't that Picard had taken Batto's threat as an idle one; but that he needed time to think and weigh any possible options he had. The verdict was dismal: as a mere mediator, he had no options to speak of. Tasha reviewed the video and offered her opinion on the matter, but it was little help to Picard or Riker, powerless as they were.

She had requested permission to place officers outside the Steward's quarters while he slept since her opinion of Batto had not improved after reviewing the recording. Batto was everything she had expected him to be: A rat, and she didn't consider him to be above murder. Picard had allowed the guards to stand watch to her immense relief. Needless to say, she was deeply concerned over the Steward's safety, and spotted him on the way to Ten Forward leaned against the corridor, holding his head.

"Steward Rayal, are you all right?" She asked and placed a steadying hand at his elbow.

"Huh? Oh. oh yes, I am fine dear, thank you." He said, trying to waive her off. "Just a bit dizzy. I am afraid Batto's accusation cut more deeply than I thought."

"You don't look so well. Perhaps I should escort you to the Sick Bay?"

"Don't fuss, I'll be fine." He straightened, then began to sway. "Ooh!" He exclaimed and grabbed hold of the corridor wall again. He was bent forward, his swollen stomach acting as a heavy anchor on his body that he fought to keep upright. The struggle caused a slick layer of sweat to dew his forehead and run down the side of his face. Yar could see his knees trembling from weakness.

"Steward Rayal-"

"-Please, just Rayal." He tried to smile. He exhaled slowly, and Tasha caught wind of a characteristic scent in his breath.

"Rayal, I mean no disrespect, but when was the last time you had something to eat?"

"Not at all today, to be honest. I'm afraid I have lost my appetite."

"Would you consider going to Ten-Forward? I can lead you there."

"No, please. I'd just like to go to my quarters."

"With all due respect, sir. The good people of Haven can't benefit from a Steward too weak to walk." She attempted to gently pull him up. "Please, try to eat something?"

He sighed. "Very well. Perhaps I should have something light to snack on." He took hold of her hand and allowed her to escort him through the bowels of the ship. "I must say, it has been many years since I've found myself in the company of such a beautiful woman." He said weakly, "I'd be honored if you would share a table with me."

She treated him with a genuine smile. "It will be a pleasure!"

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The only person Geordi found on Tseres IV was a Plump Bolian stuffing assorted tools and scanners into a Starfleet container.

"Hello! I'm Lieutenant Geordi La Forge." He introduced himself.

"Hello, I'm Ensign Higgard. What can I help you with?"

"I'm here to look at the compound, is it still clear?" He could already hear winds howling through the strata cliffs, promising a cold night.

"A bit late for a tour, isn't it?"

"I won't be long." Then he noticed that he hadn't spotted _anyone_ outside the compound, and there was only one person inside.

"Are you the only one here? I thought the Institute would have sent more people to excavate the site."

"They did. We found a couple things, but nothing like that Data Recorder the Enterprise dug up." He shook his head. "Wish I had been there to witness that discovery. So with nothing left to find, we're packing up!"

He grabbed a tool case with his other hand. "Besides. sensors show a strong storm in the Badlands heading this way. The place will be flooded before you know it."

"Why don't you set up a shield generator to prevent the compound from flooding?"

"With how old the compound is? The soft strata that surrounds the compound soaks up water like a sponge. One little hole in any of these rusted walls is all that's needed, and if you don't mind me saying so, Lieutenant, there are a lot of walls and a lot of rust."

"Care if I take a look around?"

The Bolian eyed him for a moment, then determining that Geordi had to be an insane thrill-seeker, snorted. "Be my guest." Ensign Higgard heaved a box from the floor and carried it out the lab. "Not like you'll find anything down there. Mandatory evacuation of all personnel is at 16:00, so whatever you're looking for, you'd better find it before then."

"I aim to." Geordi looked down the darkened stairwell, nestled just along the east wall. The last time he was here it was a mound of dirt. He had no idea it led to lower levels. The stairwell was large, and it was very, very dark down there. He took in a deep breath. "No time like the present." A hand-held torch in his left shone a strong beam of white light down the steps, illuminating the way.

"Word of caution Mr. La Forge!" He heard the Bolian shout from outside. "Don't use the lift!"

"I don't plan to," He replied under his breath. He had remembered Tana's fear of the lift, and after a thousand years, it couldn't be in any better condition.

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"The room has lost 70% of its illumination within 4 minutes and 27 seconds." Data said through clenched teeth. His arm was receiving some very peculiar sensations that could neither be ignored nor described properly. 'intrusive spasmatic neuro-electrical impulses' granted him a raised brow from Counselor Troi, who replied by asking him if he was _doubly sure_ that he wasn't sensing pain.

After Data confirmed he was incapable of pain, Deanna looked around engineering for any telltale dimming of lights. She saw nothing out of the ordinary. She certainly would have noticed something as dramatic as a 70% decrease. "I don't think so. It's just as lit as it always is."

He observed the counselor with a bob of his head. "I suppose it is possible that since I am infected with EVE, that my visual receptors are in the process of being dissolved." He said flatly.

"You think you're going _blind_?" A rush of anxiety ran through Counselor Troi at the thought. Anyone else would have been terrified at the concept of losing their eyesight - and yet Data described the possibility as one would recite the rules of Parisi Squares.

"That appears to be the case." He tapped his comm badge. "Data to Doctor Crusher."

"Doctor Crusher here."

"Would you come to Engineering, please? I require your professional evaluation."

"I'm on my way!"

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"I must thank you for being such a delightful dinner mate, my dear." The Steward placed his large hands over Tasha's warmly. "If my daughter hadn't died so young I imagine she would have looked much like you. Perhaps that is why I find it so easy to speak with you."

They exchanged pleasant conversation within his quarters, and he shared with her small details of life spent on Haven and the fond memories he had growing up there, and the fear of watching everything he loved collapse around him.

"I understand the position Picard is in, with the Prime Directive preventing him from intervening on Haven's Spice Smuggling. With Batto countering my request for assistance, it puts everyone in a gridlock where nothing progresses. I am afraid I may be wasting your captain's time."

"If there is anyone who can find a solution to your unique problem, it's Captain Picard. You just have to be patient and trust him."

He shook his head. "I wish it was merely a matter of patience and trust. Batto will stop at nothing to destroy this station, and it's Steward."

She leaned forward. "You suspect him of being behind this, too?"

"I do." He eyed her suspiciously for a moment. "How convenient that you suspect him after so short a time, he wasn't on the ship for more than a day."

"I've seen Haven's situation before, and I've seen men like Batto before. I only suspected him at first, but after he accused you..." She trailed off for a moment. "I know he was casting suspicion onto you to deflect it from himself. Is there anything you might have that could be used as evidence against Batto? Anything that would clear your name?"

"No, Batto is in a convenient position of _keeping_ any and all evidence at Security Headquarters, I'm afraid."

"Do you have anyone who could infiltrate headquarters, maybe dig up proof like communication records Without being noticed? An operation this big has to have some sort of paper trail."

"My administration officials aren't trained for that sort of thing. We excel in public relations. Breaking into Security Headquarters? That would only lead to capture and execution. We are a Station with a single protective unit, which is Security, and any infiltration skills they would have would have been polished under Batto's protective wing."

"Is Security loyal to Batto?"

"Most assuredly. The majority of their chiefs are members of Batto's family." He rubbed his balding head at how hopeless it all seemed. "I should have seen this coming!"

"You probably should have." His head snapped up to look at her. "But that's in the past and we're in the now. I'm sure Captain Picard could offer you asylum if you think it's too dangerous to return to Haven."

"You are a dear thing to suggest requesting asylum. But my people need me. I can not run away now."

"Even if it means an execution squad?"

"That's right."

There was a moment of angry silence. Not anger at each other, but of the impossible situation that was leading a good man to a very grim and short future.

"It's such a shame. Once, long ago, the Steward held the highest position, and his Word was the Law. It still is in paper, just not in practice." He sighed. "If Starfleet was willing to disregard our current

traditions for our legal laws, then they could intervene with my blessing. And as a reward I would allow Starfleet use of this station. I understand we are in a lucrative location." He patted her hand. "But there is no use dwelling on unlikely scenarios, is there?" He rose from the dusty-rose colored sofa. "It was such a pleasure to speak with you, but it is late. And I need my rest."

"Rayal, it's an honor to know you." She said honestly, and made her leave.

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"Data, I'm glad you called me." Beverly Crusher said as she entered Engineering briskly.

"Are you, doctor?"

"Of course! I was looking for a reason to give you a one-over." She said, touching the sides of his neck and feeling for swollen glands. Of course she wouldn't feel any since he didn't have them, but the movement was so automatic for her that it became second nature. She slid her hand into her pocket for her tricorder to find it missing. "Damn," She cursed quietly. She looked to Chief Argyle, who stood at a command panel

several feet away. "Were the medical tricorders repaired, by any chance?"

"I managed to repair one, Doctor. I'll get it for you."

"How are you feeling?"

"I am experiencing intrusive spasmatic neuro-electrical impulses in my left arm, and am perceiving a controvertible environmental change within my visual receptors." Just as he explained his complaint, he twitched.

"He said the room is getting darker." Deanna summarized. "By about seventy percent."

"It has since decreased another twelve percent." Another twitch. And then another.

"Follow my finger." His eyes followed the tip of her index, then stopped following, and he stared blankly at nothing. Her brows creased. "I don't like this."

Argyle handed her the tricorder. She made one sweeping motion, then squinted at the readings. "That can't be right! Chief, are you sure you repaired _this_ tricorder?"

"Yes, ma'am." He confirmed.

She wasn't sure she believed him. She pointed it towards herself, and it displayed exactly what she had expected it to. She pointed it at Deanna, and it relayed a healthy human hybrid. She hovered it back over Data, glared at the tricorder, then set it down. She grabbed the Engineering Tricorder and swept it over the Android's body. There we go - Metals, Alloys, electrical impulses, wires, tubing, fluids... "What is all of this static?" she asked.

"Oh, we've been having problems with scanning Commander Data. Some parts of him just phase out of the tricorder and show up as static. We think the Tricorder Departmentalization Update is missing some key features."

"This is asinine! Do you have any that aren't updated?"

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He nodded slowly, looking between Deanna, Commander Data, and Doctor Crusher. Apparently it was a secret he didn't want to reveal to senior staff. "I suspected it would take a few tries before Starfleet reverses the update and goes back to the old system, so I conveniently 'lost' one during the upgrades. Works like a charm."

"May I have it, please?"

"Sure, but don't let Ensign Cito get a hold of it. I've been hiding it from him. The man loses everything." He left for a minute, then returned with a fully functional tricorder. Crusher snatched at it like a child clutching for candy.

"All right, let's see." She hovered it over Data again. She paled visibly, then very slowly, lowered the tricorder.

"Beverly? Is he all right?"

Her arm moved slowly to touch her comm badge, but her mind was racing a mile a minute. She was charting a list of things she needed to do and in which order, how quickly she needed to do it, and how much time she had to do it in. "O'brien, two to beam directly to sick bay, myself and commander Data." She tapped her badge again "Alyssa, prepare for an epileptic patient."

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It was past 16:00, but he hadn't found anything yet. So he ignored the mandatory evacuation notice, even when water began to trickle past his shoes and make its way into the many lower levels of the old weapons manufacturing plant.

The first and second level was filled with excavated items set into organized piles. He had sifted through each one, but none of the items looked useful. He had hoped the team would have cleared out the once-inhabited third level. To be honest, he had no desire to enter Tana's little chamber of horrors. But as time went on and the trickle became a steady gentle stream, he had to compromise his wants with Data's needs.

There was no avoiding it now. He would have to go to the third level. He took each step down the stairwell carefully so as not to slip. The water made a zen-like sound as it flowed downwards. The last step almost made him slip. He placed his hand on the nearby wall to steady himself, then realized the wall itself was seeping.

_The Bolian was right, a containment field wouldn't have worked. This place is disintegrating fast. Likely because it had been exposed to the elements after its excavation._

He maneuvered around assorted objects, sweeping his handheld torch across the room. Its bright beam illuminated a cluster of objects along the North wall behind him. He froze at the sight.

Tana's lab.

It was bigger than he imagined, but smaller than Doctor Crusher's. He saw that her rusted and decomposing instruments had been laid out neatly across her operating table. The Excavators likely had found them, cleaned them up best they could and documented each one. It was almost surreal. He had just heard Tana's voice hours earlier as he replayed his saved copy of her memos. Somehow, he expected to see a squeaky-clean and orderly setting. Not these decaying husks laid before him.

A blanket of sadness suddenly enveloped him as he realized just what he was looking at. He was looking at her personal belongings. Tools. Tools never packed. Tools used for terrible destruction. Tools used on Ana, and in a way, Data. A small shiver ran up his spine.

In the far corner before the stairwell dipped into another level, he saw an operating table. Ana's final resting place. A moment of silence passed for the fallen Cyber, who never lived to see her twenty-sixth birthday.

Maybe it was his imagination, but he could almost feel Tana hustling about the third level, analyzing and coding, charting and documenting her findings. A cold wind made its way down that made his skin ripple with goosebumps. The back of his head began to tingle, as if invisible, icy fingers caressed the base of his skull. He resisted the urge to head back to the surface. _I am not about to start believing in ghosts._

And he still couldn't shake the feeling he was in her presence. He could see some electro-static energy emanating from the walls, but he also knew a storm was overhead. _A storm that is dumping gallons of water into this compound with each minute you waste, La Forge!_ "The mind can take you places when you're tired and several feet underground." He echoed her words.

He shuffled around the third floor, feeling along the walls for any telltale grooves of another water tight compartment. What extraordinary luck if he could find another data recorder that was a sequel to the first one? That frozen tickle was back, at the base of his skull and giving him more goosebumps. _Stop it! There are no ghosts here! Focus!_

_Then again, what if it _was_ Tana's ghost? Hadn't I been a ghost at some point, in a manner of speaking? What if she really was near, powered by the storm? _What harm was there to try to speak to her?_  
_

"Professor Tana, if that is you, I could really use your help right now. My friend was infected with the virus, and he's going to die if I can't find a way to help him."

His tricorder was out, but he saw nothing on its screen that showed any water tight compartments or hidden rooms. But there was a lot of electricity in the air, and it was making him uneasy. Water was rushing past his ankles and his heart began to race. His instincts were screaming at him to leave and it made his legs shake in eagerness to take his upper half away from this dark environment and its eerily familiar ghosts.

_I have to get out of here before I drown!_ He ran for the stairway and skipped each third step as he went.

The cascading water was more like mini rapids now, and he fought to continue his ascent to the second level. The water was pushing the sorted piles down the stairwell. He dodged a pile and grabbed onto the wall for support. One step, then another, and another. Before he knew it he passed the second level, which he knew was empty of solutions, and was now nearing the surface.

Riker had found the Data Recorder on the surface behind a water-tight panel. In fact, the cylinder was found on the surface, too. It would make sense then that if more information was preserved, it would be found in the vicinity of the other two objects._ All as well,_ he thought to himself, _Since I can't go back now._ The water was now an unstoppable waterfall, filling the lower levels with what had to be several gallons per minute. He kept a firm grip on the now submerged stone bench and continued to scan with his tricorder.

Thunder rumbled across the sky.

"Damn this storm!" He couldn't get any clear readings now. He could literally feel the electricity in the air, thick like smog and making it hard to think. He felt almost disconnected from his body. _Come on, La Forge! Where would you store your life story if you wanted someone to find it a thousand years later?_ He looked around the lab. _Somewhere less wet, that's where!_ The watertight compartment had been the best spot, but wasn't big enough to hold much else other than the data recorder. Was there anywhere else...?

_Wait. Data had once said the floods reach three feet. So the answer to his question was somewhere between the water level to seven feet high. _ Now, what would be resilient against cold winters and flood season?

What in this godforsaken place would protect something against extreme elements for... A sudden chill.

The answer was hanging right in front of him.

"The probe!" An instrument designed for space travel would be the perfect receptacle. And determined to be deactivated at first glance, no one would think to study it further. In addition, he was familiar with its design: numerous alien species claimed to invent the style, but in reality efficiency dictated design more than ingenuity. And if he knew this probe style like he thought he did, there should be a battery casement in its center - big enough to store a number of items.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He had to open the casement first. He grabbed a metal strip that floated by and pried off the panel. There was no battery inside.

He reached into the probe's circular belly, and touched an object. A very familiar object - another like a data recorder, but different. The Auto Writer.

"Yes! Thank you! Thank you!" He could almost feel eyes watching him, acknowledging his gratitude.

And now to get to the shuttle craft and go home. He hit his comm badge. "Computer, one to beam up!"

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	9. Chapter 9: A Desperate Turn of Events

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**Chapter 9:**  
**A Desperate Turn of Events**

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Deanna Troi was still reeling from the sudden excitement that unfolded in Engineering. There was the slight taste of copper in her mouth from when the top of Data's head collided with her lower jaw and made her bite her tongue. It bled only a little, but the flavor and sting of it centered her to the reality of the seemingly impossible scenario that had just unfolded.

Dr. Crusher deduced he was going into a seizure after the babble-prone android grew unresponsive to her inquiries, despite the constant energy flow from The Enterprise. The tricorder revealed a neurologic frenzy within his brain. And unlike his characteristic stiff falls as he was known for, he rag dolled to the floor, which yanked the power supply from his arm. The small facial twitches of before spread to encompass his entire body in convulsions, which lead Deanna to attempt to hold him still, which resulted in her jaw becoming intimately familiar with Data's superior strength. Dr. Crusher managed to press a hypo-spray to his neck, but that did no good since his physiology prevented such anti-epileptic treatment.

To make things worse, O'brien failed to get a lock on Data's signature. An emergency medical team arrived to take him to Sick Bay around the same time he lost power to his systems - and yet bizarrely, he still twitched as though fully functional.

Deanna knelt beside the red-stained carpet and touched the damp spot, cool underneath her fingers. Something about it made her shiver.

Engineering was empty and quiet now, save for the soft and enveloping hum of the engine. She had an intuitive feeling she was witnessing something profound, but couldn't tell precisely _what_ it was. Was it Data's ultimate emulation of humanity by dying? Or was it something else, unseen? What about Lal?

She had sensed the fear return within Data, only this time it was the selfless fear for a loved one, and the sense of hopelessness that came with being a mere spectator. It was an emotion she could sympathize with; she knew what it was like to lose a son and be powerless to prevent it. Was Lal still alive and worrying for her father, dormant somewhere within his neural net, or did she die after he lost power? She supposed she wouldn't know until he regained consciousness. Assuming that he would.

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Geordi hung his soaking clothes to dry beside the bed of the shuttle's tiny room. He ran a hand through his hair to divert the water from the top of his head to the towel he pressed against the back of his neck.

"Brrr!" He exclaimed and ordered hot pumpkin soup from the replicator.

Tseres IV was mortal cold still, but the heavy rains heralded the switchover from its dominant H to short-lived L-class. He could see the planet from the shuttle bay window, veiled by thick cloud cover that shimmered with lightning. The electrical storm was powerful and dangerous, and he realized now that if he had stayed any longer, he may not have been able to beam back to the shuttle, and if he had stayed in the building for even one minute longer, he would have shared a grave with the others. It gave him a new sense of respect for mandatory evacuations.

As his shuttle slowly drifted away from the tiny planet, he felt the distance between himself and the past grow, and he felt a slight sense of sorrow with it.

He wasn't an overly superstitious person, but he had the distinct feeling that Ana and Tana's ghosts were still on the planet, and that they had been aware of his presence, even if for a short time.

He didn't know what happened to Tana, Vaska, Mistra or Noreen. But somehow he knew they never made it off-world. "Forgive me for robbing your graves." he apologized with empathy, staring at the stolen Auto Writer. "But you won't go forgotten anymore. Maybe you can consider it a trade off. I get to help Data, and you get to be immortalized." He leaned forward to grab it, to begin deciphering it. "Everybody wins."

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**Entry Date unknown**

**Central Command denied my request to return home! But I already developed exactly what they asked for! They accused me of wasting time and said the Virus was too slow working, and that it was too hard to infect every Cyber. I did that for a reason! I didn't want innocent people infected.**

**They want another virus, one that works in a few days that spreads and infects. They are sending me another Cyber, a prisoner of war, for field study.**

**Honestly, I don't think I can do that again. Even if he is a prisoner of war. I find myself racked with guilt. I have confided in Mistra that I am no longer fit for duty and should be relieved of my position. She warned me that since this project is top secret, backing out of it could cause ... unpleasant consequences. I know she is not threatening me, as she seemed legitimately touched by my refusal to experiment on another Cyber. No, she is worried what Central Command might do to me if I quit. What a horrible mess I'm in.**

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**We have yet to receive the new Cyber. Central Command hasn't sent any transmissions in fifteen days. Our supplies are getting low and we are rationing our food stock, which is becoming difficult since Noreen is a nervous eater. Vaska and Mistra barely need any food at all. A single ration can be spread across nearly a month for them.**

**Through intimately studying cyberized individuals, I feel our species could benefit through global selective cyberization. If we were to replace our limbs and only parts of the brain and leave certain organs intact, we wouldn't be under the threat of extinction at all, we could reduce pollution and global farming, and our planet would benefit from our lessened needs. I can't be the only one who has realized this. It makes me think this war isn't what either side advertises.**

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**We've lost contact with Central Command. We're down to two weeks worth of rations. In hindsight, we should have demanded a ship stay on the surface in case we needed to leave. We are basically marooned here. But it's not all bad news. Vaska and Mistra shot down a low-orbit probe and brought it back to the lab. I don't know what is more astounding, that they were able to shoot down a probe using only their ocular implants, or that they are capable of recycling outdated equipment like that. At times I feel almost envious of their abilities.**

**They are attempting to reprogram it to receive interplanetary transmissions. They say we won't be able to send a signal, but at least we will know what the hell is going on out there.**

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**The probe is working, but living in ignorance was probably better. The EVE virus was apparently not fast enough for Central Command, so they modified it themselves. I specifically designed the nanoes to dissolve certain components first. Dissolving chips that respected ethics before it dissolved the neurologic pathways required to fire a weapon is just asking for trouble! But Central Command thinks their version of my virus is more lethal, thus better, without regard for the consequences.  
**

**Well, it backfired. The Cybers are infected. All of them, from the sounds of it. But it still takes days to kill them. From what reports the probe can glean, it is a massacre out there. The Cybers aren't just killing Naturals, they're killing each other. They're doing... terrible things to one another. And I know now that I have to share some of the blame for that. I have come to the realization my career as a bio engineer is over.**

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**This is bad, this is very bad. The Cybers are demanding a cure, which there is none, and they've hijacked our power plants. They have given the Naturals three days to procure either vaccine or cure. That is not enough time!**

**We have over 12,000 power plants on our home world. If they collapse our plants like they are threatening to do, it will not only kill every Natural residing there, it will irradiate the planet. The naturals were not allowed off planet, save for myself and Noreen. Our entire race is there and in effect are being held hostage. What's worse, if the Cybers are indeed infected by the modified EVE virus, then there's no telling what they will do, especially with dissolved ethics chips. How did this get so far out of hand? And all I can do is sit here and watch my species destroy itself.**

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**All transmissions from the Tseres system... Have... stopped. And it's not just the Naturals who are silent, but the Cybers, as well. And I feel I am directly responsible. Honestly I don't know what else to say.**

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**We ran out of food three days ago. Noreen and I have yet to feel the sedative effects of starvation, but it's only a matter of time. I give myself one month of survival, Noreen perhaps three. She is of considerable size. Vaska and Mistra should outlive us all, by about a year.**

**Mistra suggested we use our Auto Writers to chronicle what's happened here, and save as much cultural information as we can so that they may serve as a memorium. I have recorded some of my favorite songs, my new thesis supporting cyberbiotic and natural cohabitation, and... My apology. I have made an unforgivable mistake which can never be forgiven or reversed. I hope my Data Recorder and Auto Writer may be discovered some day, and my words be carefully considered so this terrible time in history may never be repeated.**

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He had just finished translating the first half of the Auto Writer, and he wasn't sure he had the constitution to keep translating it tonight. If it weren't for Data's need for a cure, he would have stopped right there and shipped the Auto Writer to the Institute and wash his hands clean of it.

Why did this retelling of history bother him so much, when Picard's _Romeo and Juliet_ holodeck plays didn't? Both were equally tragic. Was it because one was real and the other wasn't? Or was it due to his experience in the compound, where he could have sworn he felt Tana's (Or was it Ana's?) curious, ghostly fingers caressing the back of his neck?

Maybe he was looking too deeply into it, and he was just tired.

_Maybe it's that no one was left alive to mourn their own deaths, so I'm feeling obligated._ Somehow that felt right. He wrapped a blanket around himself and rubbed his arms, thankful for the shuttle's warmth.

He offered a respectful silence for the fallen on Tseres IV.

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"I wish you would reconsider Captain Picard's offer for asylum." Tasha said sadly as they approached the Shuttle Bay doors.

"I have faith that there isn't enough evidence to find me guilty." Steward Rayal said proudly. But his voice wavered just enough that Tasha picked up on it, betraying his bravado. "Besides, if I refused to be subjected to the very same method of justice as the people of Haven are, what would that say about our ways, and how I view them as a whole?" The bay doors opened.

Tasha could plainly see Batto standing tall, flanked by four of his officers.

"Batto." He acknowledged.

Batto nodded in return, then inhaled, preparing to read the Rights of the Detained. "Steward Rayal. You are under arrest for Suspicion of Smuggling. You will be peacefully relocated to Security Headquarters, where you will be detained during your trial. Any attempt to resist will be met with appropriate force. Security will see to your trial and objectively analyze all evidence pertaining to your guilt and act in accordance to Haven Law. You have the Right to Food and Drink and basic necessities for Life if or until you are found guilty, in which that life will be extinguished if found guilty or set free if found innocent. Will you admit to guilt to preserve Haven resources?"

"I can not."

"Gentlemen." He motioned to the officers, who grabbed him by his wrists. He made no attempt at resistance. Instead he walked with them, head held high.

Tasha watched as he disappeared into the ship, a tightness in her chest. "Captain, this is wrong." She said simply. She knew without a shadow of a doubt, Batto would fabricate some evidence, and the Steward would be executed, and Haven would fall into lawlessness with Batto comfortably sitting on the top of the crumbled pyramid. "You can't let this happen."

"Wrong according to whom?" Picard challenged. "However we may feel regarding their system of law, they are doing exactly what they dictate is right." The look in his eyes told another story.

He turned to leave the shuttle bay, the plight of the Steward heavy on his shoulders.

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Lieutenant Geordi was nearing The Enterprise when he was hailed by Haven Station.

"Haven Station, officer Jolani to Enterprise shuttle, please respond."

"Haven Station, this is Lieutenant Geordi La Forge."

"State your purpose for straying from approved trade routes."

"Just coming back from personal business in the Tseres system, officer Jolani. Travel was approved by Haven's Steward. Sending you a copy now."

"Copy received. Stand By."

He waited, readying himself to dock with Enterprise.

"Haven station to Lieutenant La Forge."

"La Forge here."

"You will cut power to your engines and prepare to be towed to Haven Station. Verify compliance."

"Negative, Haven Station. We have not received clearance from the Steward to dock at Haven."

"This shuttle is being impounded as evidence for suspicion of use in smuggling. You will be peacefully relocated to Security Headquarters, where you will be detained during your trial. Any attempt to resist will be met with appropriate force. Security will see to your trial and objectively analyze all evidence pertaining to your guilt and act in accordance to Haven Law." An odd sound buzzed behind Geordi, and he spun around to look. What had to be one ton of Spice began to materialize into view. "You have the Right to Food and Drink and basic necessities for Life if or until you are found guilty, in which that life will be extinguished if found guilty or set free if found innocent. Will you admit to guilt to preserve Haven resources?"

"Oh... _shit_!" He whispered.

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	10. Chapter 10: Insurance

**Chapter 10:**  
**Insurance**

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"Riker to Captain Picard."

Picard rubbed his face tiredly and folded his book. "Yes, what is it?"

"Sorry to disturb you captain, but Head of Security Batto is hailing us."

_I don't suppose this can wait._ He thought grumpily. "On my way." He resigned himself to another stressful evening and left his book in his chair.

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Picard saw nearly all officers standing stock still with chests out and shoulders squared as he entered the bridge. Batto's face was on the main screen, looking as disagreeable as came naturally to him. He could tell Riker and Batto had shared choice words, as both men glared at each other from across the expanse of space.

"Captain Picard."

"Head Security Batto. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was just notifying your first officer here that a "Geordi La Forge," who claims to be a Starfleet Officer, has just been detained for attempting to smuggle Spice in Haven Territory."

"You must be mistaken. Lieutenant La Forge was returning from a personal mission in the Tseres System."

"The Tseres System is uninhabited, captain Picard. What sort of mission would warrant anyone to go there?"

"An officer of mine is gravely ill, and the virus responsible was picked up on Tseres IV during an archaeological expedition. I ordered Lieutenant La Forge to return to the planet to try to find a cure."

"A _Virus_? Why would you send another officer there if the region is contaminated? You would put another of your men at risk?" Batto was already growing suspicious of the story.

"I'm afraid the virus doesn't infect natural persons such as you or I. It's a technological blight." A mischievous look lit in his eyes as an idea sprung to mind. "It's called EVE, and it systematically dissolves all metals to the smallest molecule in quick order. Surely you've heard of it?"

"I have not."

"Well, you don't want that loose on your station. If you return our officer and shuttle, we will gladly be on our way. The less time he's there the better Haven's chances of not contracting it."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"And why not?"

"Our laws are very clear that no detainee may be released without absolving him of guilt first."

"Then absolve it!"

"That will be difficult since we have recovered nearly a ton of Spice from his shuttle."

"What is this rubbish?" Picard growled. "Starfleet does not engage in smuggling!"

"And yet here we are!"

Picard motioned to cut the Video. A few taps with Tasha's fingers and the screen went black.

"Just what the devil is going on here? Counselor?" Deanna was trying to hide a scowl. "I am sensing a lot of deceit, confidence and satisfaction from him, captain." Her eyes narrowed as she further studied the emotions she felt from the Head of Security. "He does not want to return Geordi to us. He wants to frighten us away by making an example of him."

"He perceives us as a threat. Why?"

Tasha cleared her throat. "I suspect it has to do with Steward Rayal, captain." She caught his full and undivided attention. She continued. "The Steward was explaining to me that legally he can supercede Head Security Batto in all matters. The Steward was suspecting Batto of running the smuggling operation, and Batto's accusation during mediation convinced the Steward of his involvement. In order for Batto to take control of Haven, the Stewardship would have to have his powers stripped."

"Through detainment for suspicion of crime." Picard reasoned.

"Exactly."

"Yes, that's it! I thought I sensed apprehension in him. Batto is afraid that Starfleet would have answered the Steward's request to start their own investigation and discover he was behind it."

"But we declined the request on the grounds that the Prime Directive does not allow us to interfere."

"Batto is a dishonest man, who does not honor code." Worf concluded. "Criminals do not trust honorable men to follow the rules."

Picard turned back to Tasha. "I understand Steward Rayal requested Starfleet's investigation verbally. Do we have any recording of that request?"

"No, sir."

"Damn." He whispered. "On screen."

Batto's face blipped back on the full screen.

"If our officer is found guilty of smuggling, what becomes of him?"

"We will execute him, just as we will execute Ex-Steward Rayal."

"A rather harsh punishment."

"Harsh, but necessary."

"Surely we can work out a mutually beneficial agreement."

Batto's eyes narrowed, but the slight hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps I left Enterprise too hastily. Shall we reconvene? In person, of course?"

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Data was back in his dream state, in Ten-Forward. The lights were dim and no one was present. The chairs and tables were absent, and not even a single star glittered outside the window. He saw there was a malfunctioning replicator behind the bar. He tried to exit Ten-forward, but the doors would not open or allow him to force it.

He had sensed he lost power since he was back here, but how far the power loss had gone, he did not know. His internal chronometer was offline, so he didn't know how much time passed since he blacked out. It likely had dissolved with many of his other features, like his floatation device and vision. Perhaps Lal knew what was happening to him? She seemed to have a more intimate knowledge of his workings than he did as of late.

"Lal." He summoned. But the room remained silent, and not even the hum of the ship's engine blessed his ears.

He remembered his daughter's warning of what would happen to her if too little power reached his positronic brain, and he called out to her again.

"Lal?"

When there was still no reply, he knew for certain that he was alone.

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Tasha Yar had always considered Picard as a sort of father figure to her; he was insightful and caring. He had a way about guiding and encouraging the best of his officers, But he was also stern when necessary. His praise was addictive and condemnation brutal, like a father's should be.

She stared at herself in the mirror. A quick study of Haven's current fashion trend revealed an easy way to blend in; a simple dress and cloak, rimmed with golden fillagre. She supposed it would have to do.

She wondering how he would react when he discovered she was no longer on the ship? Of course officially he would have to be furious, but personally? Would he be disappointed or proud of her? She honestly didn't know, because she felt her next critical decisions blurred the lines between right and wrong. And the Prime Directive didn't specify whether traditional practice trumped law when they counteracted one another. It was up to the captain's best judgement in this case, but she felt his judgement was wrong. He was erring on the side of caution to not get involved, but thousands of people on Haven would suffer for that caution, and a good man named Rayal would be executed, and maybe even Geordi as well.

She opened a small case from under her bed that revealed a large handful of latinum slips. Starfleet didn't pay their officers; Earth absolved their monetary system a very long time ago. Those slips she now carried in her hand represented years of doing the odd favor here and there, and the savings slowly accumulating with time. She learned that money was still a perfectly good method for bribing and encouraging cooperation,  
and she was going to need it on Haven Station.

She left her quarters quietly and quickly, making her way to the shuttle bay. There was no way she could beam directly from Enterprise to Haven; not with their shields up the way they were. She would have to take a shuttle craft closer to the station and overload a shield before beaming was even a possibility. Breaking onto a station after very clear instructions not to get involved - oh yes, this would go on her record, that was certain.

Maybe Picard would demote her. She supposed discharge or reprimand were also possibilities. But if there was anything Picard had taught her well, was that sometimes personal sacrifice was necessary for the the greater good. And a hard life also taught her that at times fathers must be disappointed in their daughters.

Tasha cursed under her breath as Ensign Cito appeared around the corridor. _Not this. Not right now._ She gave him a courtly nod as they passed and hoped he would be satisfied with the acknowledgement. _Well, that wasn't so bad._ She thought to herself as they passed one another.

"Ta-Leutenant Yar." Cito said, forcing her to stop. _Damn it!_ He looked her up and down critically. "What are you _wearing_?"

"I'm going to the holodeck." She lied. "Is that a problem?"

"No! No. It's great that you're getting some time away from your duties. I, uh, I wanted to tell you. Commander Data has been transferred to Sick Bay."

"Thank you for your update, Ensign, but shouldn't you be notifying the captain of this and not me?"

"I thought you would like to know first."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you think I would want to know first?"

"I assumed after you broke it off that you and he="

"Agh! I don't have time for this _Bullshit!_" She shouted, bashing her fist against the control panel in the corridor. A spiderweb of cracks spread across the surface. She opened her fist in reaction to the pain and sudden destruction of Starfleet property. _Well, that's just great. Add that on top of boarding Haven without Picard's permission and I'll be thrown in the brig for sure._

"I'll fix it." Cito whispered. "No need for you to get in trouble."

"Don't bother."

_It's not like it will matter in the end anyway, after all is said and done._ Tasha figured, forcing herself forward.

She stopped just short of the shuttle bay doors. They opened for her, but she didn't enter. She stomped her foot. _Damn it, Bel Cito! Why did you have to tell me that?_ She turned around and headed back to the turbo lift.

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"You're saying you're being framed. By Security." The investigator leaned forward and whispered. "Been sampling the merchandise a little bit?"

"I'm telling you the truth. I watched the spice materialize on the shuttle after Security contacted me and accused me of smuggling." Geordi repeated himself for felt like the thousandth time. "If you will let me show you the records, I can prove to you that I'm innocent. Transporters leave very distinct signatures."

"We don't have transporters here or the know-how to read your sensors to even know if you're telling us the truth."

"But Enterprise does."

The investigator chuckled. "You're asking us to trust Starfleet's word after a Starfleet officer is caught smuggling spice to the Station. You have any idea how all this sounds?"

"It doesn't have to be Starfleet, you could ask any freighter with transporter technology to look over the records."

Another investigator strolled through the room. "How's it going, Abie?" He asked as he passed by.

"He says he's being framed by Security."

"Ha! Like we have the time for that!"

"Just tell me one thing. How far up Starfleet does this thing go?"

"It doesn't go anywhere!" Geordi answered through grit teeth. "I was framed!"

"Right." He shook his head. "Never thought the Steward and Starfleet were behind this."

"I don't know about your Steward, but Starfleet has nothing to do with this. We responded to a request to mediate, and that's all we did."

"Uh-huh. That's why you admitted to being in the Tseres system, because it's just _bustling_ with things to do there." His words were dripping with sarcasm. "Is that the usual smuggling route?"

"I told you, I was sent there on a mission from my captain to look for something."

"Okay, let's go with your story. What were you looking for."

"A cure for a virus."

"A _what_?"

"I was looking for a cure for a virus Enterprise picked up on Tseres IV. I have an artifact in my shuttle that explains everything. If you translate the rest of it you'll know I'm telling the truth!" He wanted to add that if a very special Soong Android died because of his callous disregard for that truth, then he would hold him personally responsible. But he held his tongue. He could feel his fingernails dig painfully into his palms as he clenched his fists tightly. Where the hell was Captain Picard? Precious time was being wasted sitting here, repeating the same story over and over!

If the investigator heard the rest of his words, he didn't care about them. He was hooked on the first sentence of Geordi's reply. "You're not sick, are you?" He leaned back to increase the distance between him and the flustered Starfleet Officer. Geordi began to chuckle and leaned forward, closing the distance.

"Maybe I am. It would make sense for you to keep me as far away from your station as possible, if that was the case."

The investigator weighed the possibility of his words, then shook his head. No, the story was too unbelievable. "Spice speak. We'll try again when he comes down."

"Should we quarantine him first, Abie?"

"No, put him back in his cell, he's just riding the Spice."

Two rough hands grabbed him by the forearms and dragged him from his stool. His hands were pinned together by magnetic rings around his wrists. A rush of panic set in as he was forcefully removed from the room. "Will you at least return the artifact to the Enterprise! My friend needs it! Please!"

The investigator jutted out his lower lip in mockery. "So sorry."

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Tasha entered Sick Bay to find no one was inside. Doctor Crusher was probably called away, and Nurse Ogawa was no where to be found.

That left herself and Commander Data alone. She approached his bedside and noticed restraints around his arms and ankles. An odd cuff covered his right wrist. It beeped in timely intervals, reminding her of a heart rate monitor. Of course Data didn't need something like that, so it had to have been for some other Android-y purpose.

"Hi, Jewel." She said.

He didn't respond to her, and she eyed the computer screen above his bed. His medical file was still displaying his stats, recently updated by Crusher.

"Seizures have leveled off after extreme dissolution of neural pathways leading to positronic brain, essentially comatose." She quoted and looked back down. Her vision blurred. How could this be happening? He looked fine. In fact, he looked remarkably peaceful for having something so violently attacking him. "You are a mess, aren't you?" She whispered.

She took his hand and squeezed it. At the touch of his polymer skin, a zap of electricity arced between them, making her heart rate jump in surprise of the shock. But a few calming breaths later, she recovered. She pressed his hand against her jaw, as if she could will her strength into him from touch alone.

"I should have wished you well earlier." She wiped a tear away from her cheek. "I'm sorry I took so long."

"There's something important I have to do." She placed his hand back on the bed.

"Keep fighting, okay? Don't give up."

Now, she was ready to go. She wiped away another tear as she left Sick Bay.

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"You are a bad cat! You will come when summoned!" Worf growled. He remembered Data telling him Spot didn't respond to instructions; but Worf was convinced it was due to a lack of asserting his dominance over the creature, rather than it being a feline quality to be admired.

The yellow tabby's tail twitched suggestively and she blinked slowly at him, as if to say 'And just what will you do if I don't?' An insulting challenge if he ever saw one - it was disrespectful to goad a Klingon into a one-sided fight. How could he tell Data he killed his cat and hope to ever hold the slightest shred of honor again?

Worf exhaled. "I have much to teach you about respect." He said. If he could just get ahold of her, he could take her to his quarters and feed her, and she could do ... whatever it was cats did, there.

The last time he cared for her, he fed her and pretended she didn't exist the rest of the time. Her purr brought the absolute worst out of him. It was only out of respect for Commander Data that he put up with that horrible sound in the first place. And it was so much easier relocating her to his quarters when Data just handed her to him. But this time it was a struggle. Was it because her caretaker wasn't present? He wondered.

She arched her back and hissed at him, ears flat against her skull and tail poofed. He swiftly bent forward to grab her. Quick as lightning, she slapped him on the hand and leapt from the back of the chair, bounced off his back and launched herself across the room and under Data's bed.

He studied his hand critically, noting a thin ribbon of blood beginning to seep from his dark skin.

"I'm bleeding." He said simply, a small weed of admiration welling within him for the long-legged tribble that drew first blood. "You would make an excellent huntress." He remarked. Her reflexes and speed were remarkable!

She made a low-pitched warning meow from under the bed. He rounded its right side and snatched her around the scruff of the neck. She twisted and turned as he dragged her out. She hissed again and nearly bit him, exposing needle-sharp fangs. "This fight is unnecessary. I am trying to take care of you."

The sight of her ferocity only fostered more admiration. She was no Targ, but she was magnificent when vexed. Maybe he could take her to the holodeck, where she could hone her hunting skills? Now that he was beginning to see her in a different light, it didn't seem right to deny her that primal instinct.

"I underestimated you." He said softly as he left Data's quarters with the cat still firmly held in his grip. "You are a _good_ cat."

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	11. Chapter 11: Haven

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**Chapter 11: **

**Haven**

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**.**

Lal wasn't really sure what happened.

She remembered experiencing the terror of the electrical storm raging within her father's positronic brain. Unable to stop it, she remembered desperately trying to escape its destructive force. She had plunged through a neural pathway and hid somewhere deep within and waited for the storm to pass.

When she felt it was safe to return to the designated pathway he had given her, she found her way was blocked. She was stuck somewhere, but where she didn't know. She didn't even know how long she stayed that way, dormant in some part of his body, until something unsuspected happened. There was an arc of electricity and she somehow crossed the bridge of ... something ... and her environment changed dramatically from something familiar to something strange.

And then she realized she was alive.

Sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste. all five senses were restored with fine-tuned acuity. The dimmed lights of night time, the soft beeping of a machine behind her father. The feel of his polymer skin, warm in her hand. The sterile smell of the Sick Bay, and the salty flavor of tears as they ran down her cheeks and onto her lips. The shame of feeling like a poor friend. "Keep fighting, okay? Don't give up." Advice she never thought to give, in a voice not her own.

She came to understand that her body's movements were completely independent of her desires. She tried to stay next to her father, but she couldn't prevent her body from leaving Sick Bay. It headed to the shuttle bay, and numbly left the Enterprise.

She witnessed the stealthy drift the shuttle made to the underbelly of what looked like a very large and impressive station, and observed with great interest as her hands expertly manipulated a handheld device and overloaded a shield generator. She stared in awe as those same hands transported her body onto the station, and quickly slip into the very well guarded station.

Upon boarding, she disappeared into what looked like an alley between two buildings, then electronically sent a command back to the shuttle to send it back to The Enterprise. Then she took a good look at her surroundings.

The Station was made to look like a city; It was large enough that two-story buildings rested on its main crescent-shaped level, with its anti-gravity making the gentle curve of the station only noticable when the station was observed from far away. Otherwise no one would know they weren't walking on a flat surface.

What looked like glass spanned the sky above, and a single track carried a bright light - a pale imitation of a sun rising and falling - from left to right.

Lal realized then that she was observing an imitation of Dusk on a huge space station through the eyes of someone else. She distinctly heard Commander Riker's voice emerge from a comm badge on her chest.

"Commander Riker to Lieutenant Yar!" He did not sound very pleased. An arrow of excitement ran through Lal. Was he as handsome as she remembered him? "You are to return to the Enterprise immediately."

Lieutenant Yar? She remembered her vaguely - from her father's memories before she transferred off the ship. There were some memories she refused to view once it became evident they were private, but now she could place an identity on this host that carried her around. So she was in Lieutenant Yar's mind!

She watched as Tasha Yar ripped off her comm badge and shoved it into a pack slung over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Commander. But Geordi and Data need me." _And the Steward and nearly everyone on Haven._ She said confidently to herself, as if trying to reassure that what she was doing was right.

Lal knew it wouldn't take long before the shield generator would realign and become active again, and beaming her off Haven would become impossible.

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Picard entered Sick Bay and immediately turned slightly to his left, making a B-line directly to Doctor Crusher's office.

"Hello!" She greeted him cheerfully. "I'm glad you're here, I was just about to contact you."

"Doctor Crusher, I just received word from Engineering you've relocated a priceless commodity." Why Chief Argyle went to _him_ and not directly to Security was a mystery. And why he failed to specify exactly _what_ was relocated, and that Dr. Crusher was just shy of being accused of theft, was an even bigger mystery. Never the less, he didn't mind the excuse to see the Good Doctor.

"I did." She admitted. "I'll return the tricorder when I'm done with it." She promised. Considering it was the only one on the ship capable of reading _both_ organic and technological materials, she wasn't going to give it up until she didn't need it anymore. Not without a fight, in any case.

"Tricorder?" Argyle was whining over a tricorder, of all things? What was wrong with his?

"Never mind," She dismissed his inquiry. "It will be returned."

"Good." Picard looked out the window of her office and into the Sick Bay. "What's he doing here?" He asked suddenly, noticing Commander Data laying supine on one of the beds. A cuff covered his right wrist, where several tubes fed in and out of him.

"That's what I was going to contact you about." Her blue eyes wandered to the occupied bed, then back to Picard. "But maybe you should sit down first."

He sat in front of her desk and she followed suit, but not before tapping on her mounted computer screen. An image of what looked like tiny black dots moved to and fro on the screen amid a pink background.

"I want you to know I located the EVE Nanoes, and it was completely by accident. Computer, enhance and zoom two-hundred percent." It zoomed in again, the little black dots now resembled tiny spiders. "And near as I can tell, they are in every square inch of his body."

"Is the Enterprise at risk?"

"No."

"You sound confident."

"That's because I am." She took in a breath. "I inserted some Nanoes into an old laser scalpel of mine to see what they would do. They moved around, but never dissolved any components. After a couple hours they shut down." She pointed to her scalpel, which laid inert in a small metal tray. "They seem to be locked onto Commander Data somehow. These Nanoes won't work unless they are inside of him."

"It sounds as though they behave more like a venom than a virus."

"In that they don't jump from host-to-host. They are injected, they do their work within their one host, then deactivate when the job is complete, or when they are removed and relocated."

Picard sighed with relief. "Well, to know that the Enterprise isn't at immediate risk is refreshing news for once." He stole a look at his second officer. "Can you deactivate them?"

"Not without killing Data in the process." She turned off the computer screen. "He's dependant upon them."

"Dependant? In what manner?"

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Geordi sat leaned against the back of his cell, visor fixed on the ceiling. He heard the door to the detainment center open, but he never lifted his gaze from where it rested. He heard Head Security Batto enter and waive his officer away.

"Leave us." He ordered. The Security officer nodded and left immediately. He waited until the door shut before turning to Geordi.

"How was your supper?"

"A bit dry."

Batto didn't seem to care too much. "Do you know why you're here, La Forge?"

"No, but I have a feeling you'll tell me." He said somberly.

"I understand you were in the Tseres System."

"That's right." He confirmed flatly.

"Looking for a cure for some virus."

"Yes." How many more times would he have to repeat? How long would he have to stay here, while his best friend deteriorated away?

"Did you happen across any ships as you passed through Tseres?"

"No."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

In fact, Geordi had discovered unusual readings that could have been a ship - cloaked, of course - but he was too occupied with getting to Tseres IV to bother to investigate. But he didn't care to share that information. He already had a feeling the readings he had picked up were related to why Spice had made its way onto his shuttle.

"Do your shuttles record sensor readings when you're away on missions?"

"Only if we tell it to, if we see something out of the ordinary. And I was too busy looking for a cure to notice or record a damn thing."

"Mm." Batto humphed. Well, he heard what he wanted to hear, but he had no way of knowing that Geordi was telling the truth.

"If you want to check," Geordi said slowly as though reading his thoughts, "You can remove the sensor system underneath the main control panel. There's a log of all recorded sensor readings. Easy to read if you run it through a computer. You can see for yourself."

"I just might do that. Perhaps it will help with this case. If another ship had been picked up by your sensors, that may be where the Spice originated before it was beamed to your shuttle." Batto reasoned. Geordi's head lowered to look Batto in the eye. _What a load of garbage._ He thought to himself. A ship would have to decloak in order to beam anything onto the shuttle, and there were no ships nearby besides Enterprise. The freighter ships along the trade route had already left en masse after business day. No, the Spice had to have come from Haven itself, while one of its many shield generators were inactivated.

"I told your captain I will personally oversee this case. I will not rest until we get to the bottom of this."

_Sure you will._ "Thank you."

Batto stepped away from Geordi's cell, readying to leave.

"Mr. Batto, I told you I was on Tseres IV to look for a cure to the virus killing my friend."

"Yes?"

"I found an artifact, a square box. It's called an Auto Writer. It might hold the cure. Please, as a token of good will, return it to Enterprise." Batto made his way to the door, opened it, then looked back to Geordi. "_Please_."

"I will consider your request." He answered, then left.

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"He's in a critical stage. He's in constant need of external power, and I had to hook him to one of Sick Bay's external blood purifiers, just to keep his electrolytes balanced."

"Kidneys for an android."

"Essentially. He began to seizure because the dissolved metals were building up with no way out."

"Unbelievable." Picard remarked, staring down at his Second Officer. He didn't look so bad - or the slightest bit different, for that matter. He looked healthy, only immobile and unresponsive. He wouldn't have even known he was infected to look at him. To think, Geordi had likely saved his life by replacing Data's fluid when he did.

"It's hard to discredit the readings of three different tricorders." Beverly said, standing behind him with her hands in her blue coat.

"But how they would even know when and when not to dissolve...The complexity. It's astounding." An idea was forming behind his eyes. "Do you think we can reprogram the nanoes? So they aren't locked onto Data?"

"Perhaps engineering could. May I ask why?"

"If we can use this virus against the Borg, it would give us an unparalleled advantage."

Crusher opened her mouth to object, then gave in. "I could send the Nanoes I isolated to Engineering. But if you don't mind me saying, captain, I think you're playing with fire."

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Tasha had spanned three miles of the Station before she located the Ship Yard where the shuttle craft was docked. It was guarded by one man per exit; with a lot of space in between. She knew she would have to get in there somehow, but didn't see an easy way of breaking in without being spotted by one of the guards, who had taken notice of her admiration of the shuttle and studied her suspiciously.

"Don't even think about it." He said to her. "You want the metals off it? You'll wait for the auction like everyone else, unless you want a haircut." He lifted his phaser rifle in emphasis. "Get lost!"

She backed away quickly, then ran the other way as he aimed the rifle in her direction.

_Auction, huh? That was an awful fast investigation._ She thought grimly from the safe shadows of an alley between two buildings.

"Hey sweetie."

A chill ran up her spine at the sound.

"Looks like you lost your way." Another man said, and another snickered. One placed a suggestive hand on his belt. "How about we escort you home? Streets are awful dangerous round these parts." Another laugh.

"Too many riding Spice this way to ignore something as pretty as you."

She recognized one had grabbed a tool of some kind from the ground. It was long, thick and sturdy, and he was now attempting to hide it behind his back.

"I don't want any trouble." She said, lifting her hands in front of her and backing away, trying to swallow the fear that rose in her throat.

"That's a good girl." One cooed. "C'mere." He wagged a finger at her, and stepped too close, reaching for her.

All of a sudden, she was back on Turkana IV. She grabbed his wrist and used his center of gravity to throw him to the floor, then booted him firmly in the ass. The second man ran for her, and she spun around, kicking him between the shoulder blades. The third lunged, swinging the tool like a club. She made a V formation with her forearms and pinned his arm between them, twisting it roughly until he lost his grip. Angry and afraid, she grabbed the tool and smacked him across the back with it. She struck him again, then again.

_"They are immobilized. That isn't necessary anymore."_ She heard a young woman's voice say from somewhere, and she was quickly yanked from the grubby streets of Turkana and back on Haven, with a pile of delerious and bruised men at her feet. She dropped the tool and fled as she heard the Ship Yard guards running towards the scene.

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	12. Chapter 12: Carpe Diem

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**.**

**Chapter 12:**

**Carpe Diem**

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**.**

"Sensors indicate Lieutenant Yar overloaded a shield generator and beamed herself aboard Haven, before sending the shuttle back to Enterprise." Worf explained.

Picard sat leaning back in his chair, fingers perpetually pinching the bottom of his shirt and tugging as Worf and Riker delivered the news of Tasha's actions. First the failed mediation, then the Steward's arrest, then Data's siezure, Geordi's essentially being held hostage, and now this? _Just how in the name of god did this mission get so far out of hand so quickly?_

"Haven hasn't contacted us about any unauthorized boarding of the station. It looks like a clean infiltration." Riker said.

"This is unacceptable." He supposed he would have to relieve Tasha Yar of her duties when she returned. If she returned, he corrected himself hastily. Since Haven seemed to take committing crimes very seriously.

"Maybe we can use this to our advantage." Riker leaned forward. "She's already on the station, no one seems to know she's there, and the Steward did ask for help." Well, Riker was right about that; she wasn't in direct violation of the Prime Directive, only Picard's safe interpretation of it.

"Do we have any way of contacting her?"

"Not since the shield generator went back up. We'll have to wait until she opens communication on her end."

"By overloading _another_ shield generator." Picard assumed. He had to hand it to her, her methods were garish and straight-forward, but effective nonetheless.

"Probably." Riker confirmed.

"Lieutenant Worf, you've known Tasha longer than anyone else here. What do you think she will do?"

"She would not have gone to Haven unless she thought she had an upper hand. And security tells me she spent many hours alone in Steward Rayal's quarters." He went silent for a brief second, thinking. "He may have given her useful information about the station." He looked Picard in the eye. "Lieutenant Yar would not have acted on impulse in any case."

"Do you trust her skills and judgement? Is there any risk that she may be in trouble?"

"I do not know the conditions of Haven to be certain. But she is capable of defending herself."

"For her sake Mr. Worf, I hope you're right."

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Throughout the night, Tasha explored Haven's main street and found not only Security Headquarters and the Steward's tower, but several restaurants, markets, and a breathtaking garden. She napped in the delightful greenery next to flowers that seemed attracted to her body heat.

The warm morning lamp that represented their sun was fitted to emit light UV rays - she knew because she once she woke up in daylight, she could feel a sunburn developing across her face. After her rejuvenating nap, she sampled Haven cuisine and found it remarkably good; the perfect blend of spicy and sweet, and when she bit into what looked like a fist-sized cherry, sweet juice filled her mouth and ran down her chin. The water was refreshing and cold, and the people were friendly. She fit in perfectly, and no one knew she was an imposter. The main street even looked much like the streets of Earth; clean and orderly. A beautiful paradise with little crime.

But she noticed there were no cross streets. Given the crescent shape of the Station, the streets all ran from north to south, with only walkways and tiny alleys allowed passage from the one street to another. Main street was flanked by west and east Alpha, followed by west and east Beta, and down the line it went until it ended at Omega. Here was where you could find the recycling centers, Sanitation, and auction yards.

Omega was where separation of classes made itself evident. And she noticed that the closer to Omega one was, the dingier it got. The poor, unhealthy and derelict were pushed to Haven's outskirts where crime was common. The disheartened turned to Spice as an escape from their harsh reality, and once hooked, their lives continued the downward spiral. women sold themselves in the alleys to afford more Spice. Spice Dens dominated the scene, and there was very little security here besides the few paid well enough to protect key buildings, like the ship yard that housed the shuttle. Otherwise, you were homeless or living in a slum, because all their money went to that wretched drug.

Here on the Omega Strip, she was brazenly out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb with her clean clothes, clear complexion and bright eyes. Those living on Main and Alpha didn't need to scavenge for items or be

concerned with basic nutrition; they bought what they needed and that was that. The comforts of Starfleet made her blend right in with the upper echelons of Haven. But on the Omega strip, you made it yourself or had to go without. That simple reality made those living on Omega and Theta resentful of their better-off neighbors. In retrospect, it was possible this was the very reason why she had been attacked the night before: She represented something those men couldn't obtain unless they stole it.

Now familiar with the layout and state of the Station, she made her way to Security Headquarters on Main. She would have to wait until night fall before she tried to enter through the back service door, where a local eatery delivered meals to the jailed inhabitants at lamp-down. She reached into her pocket and felt the comforting smooth surface of her latinum strips. She was willing to bet the delivery workers would let her in the building with enough latinum and a convincing story. She knew it was a risk, but she had to make sure Geordi was all right.

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"Too rich for my blood." Riker said, contrary to the large pile of accumulated chips in front of him. He dropped his cards. "I fold."

Beverly gingerly tossed a chip into the center of the table. Deanna tossed in another chip, followed by Worf.

"What happened to your hand?" Beverly asked, noticing tiny thin scabs running across his knuckles like ribbons. He glanced at his hand passively. Why were humans so concerned over such minor nicks? Still, he failed to suppress the feelings of appreciation for the fuzzy little monster that left her marks.

"He's caring for Data's cat." Deanna answered for Worf and picked up her card.

"Nailed ya, did she?" Riker rubbed his beard and laughed, but a crease between his brows formed at the thought of that wicked creature. Christ, he hated Spot. Deanna hid a chuckle at the strength of negative emotions Riker emitted at the thought of the ingrateful animal. "You're a brave man."

_Brave? For caring after a ten-pound animal?_ Worf snorted at Riker's playful tease. "This was not a result of honorable combat. She would not come when I hailed her. When I approached, she fled from me. So I tried to grab her." He explained. All three humans around the table cringed, as if knowing the outcome before he finished his story. Worf was getting the impression this was a common thing for cats.

"She thinks she's bigger than she really is." Will said, remembering the one time he offered to care for her. He vowed never to do that again. "She has the heart of a lion, I'll give her that." He shuffled the deck. To repeatedly face against a Klingon was a profound testament to her spirit and stupidity. Maybe she fancied herself to be a tiger. "It's a shame the big cats went extinct. I'd love to see one in person. Beautiful animals, from what I hear." He tossed Beverly a card.

"They came in bigger sizes?" Worf sounded astonished. He eyed the cards in his hand. Two pair. "Fold!"

"Sure they did. Lions and Tigers were heavier than a grown man. We used to call them Man-eaters. Probably could have given a Klingon a good run for his money."

Worf raised an eyebrow. "A _cat_ against a Klingon?" He shook his head. "You must be joking."

"No, seriously!" Riker said, leaning over the table. "Ancient Roman Venatores would set up death matches in their Colosseums between their strongest hunters and hungry lions. The holodeck has a few historical recreations if you wanted to fancy pitting yourself against one."

Somehow, Worf was having trouble imagining an animal like Spot overpowering a Klingon. But he had to admit, the thought of fighting in a Roman Colosseum had its appeal...

Deanna hid her smile as she eyed the the four-of-a-kind gripped between her fingers. "I used to have a cat I named Duchess on Betazed. She was a gift from my father. She would always bring us field mice and leave it on our door step. It would always frighten my mother." She chuckled at the memory of Lwaxana Troi, stomping her feet in disgust at the little furry carcasses. "It's amazing that after thousands of years of domestication, cats still retain their hunting skills."

"I did appreciate her reflexes and agility. I considered bringing her to the holodeck to hone her skills. But I have yet to coax her from under my chair." He grumbled. "Her claws are remarkably sharp!" As such, he aimed to keep his interactions with her short; injury, no matter how slight, tended to bring out the dominant side of him. And a dead cat was inexcusable.

"Did you try bribing her with tuna?" Riker offered.

His eyes narrowed at the suggestion. "Klingons do not bribe."

Riker chuckled. "Have it your way, ribbons."

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"Sho I told - I told the man, 'Ey! If you're sho tough, why you got beaten up by a girl?' And he shaid to me, 'She washnt a girl she wash a demon, get your factsh shtraight -up." He interrupted himself, slumped over as if to vomit, then recovered. "Ha! You shee that? Now I can hold my liquor!"

"Ohh shut up!" Geordi groaned. Thus far the man had hugged him, tried to kiss him, steal his visor, and puked in the corner twice. Compared to this man, the pick-pocket was a saint. And far more attractive: she had long, curly hair and the most striking eyes he had ever seen. They were hitting it off well, too, until it was time for her to be released.

"Sho what're ya in for?"

"I was framed for smuggling Spice."

"Shpishe! Can I have shome?"

"I don't have any, I just told you was framed."

The drunk looked hurt. "You don't even have shome Vapors? I need shome Vapors!"

"I've _smelled_ your vapors!"

"Naahhh you have shome. I'll pay you good moneysh." He patted his pocket, then finding it empty, turned around a full 360 degrees, then lost his balance and fell.

"You okay?" Geordi asked.

The drunk groaned a reply, but didn't try to get up. Instead he emitted a gurgling noise from deep within his heavily-fleshed throat. Even though the prospect of silence was welcome, Geordi wondered if the man would die right in front of him, what with the bizarre range of rude noises he emitted while prostrate on the floor. He supposed that would be a bad thing. He remembered Crusher saying people tended to lose their bowel function after death, and his nose could barely take any more of this man's bodily secretions.

"Hey! Are you all right?" He repeated.

"Shaddap!" The drunk replied, them mumbled. "Mm tryin' to shleep here..." A few seconds later, he was snoring.

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Tasha watched the delivery worker move the hover jack into position in front of the service door. She recognized him as a young male, and tugged her dress downwards in an attempt to accentuate her cleavage and inhaled deeply, enhancing her feminine qualities.

"Excuse me, sir!" She trotted towards him, and he took a tentative step back in alarm. His eyes scanned her face, then rested on her chest. _Perfect. Now that I have your attention..._

"I'm so sorry to bother you, but I need to get inside Headquarters."

"I-I'm sorry Ma'am, but you'll have to go around. I can't let anyone in." He stuttered, eyes still hopelessly fixed on her heaving, marvelous breasts.

"Oh, no." She feigned fret, and placed a hand over her heart and imitated hyperventilation. "My husband is a Detective. We met for lunch and he told me about a case he was working on earlier today, and he left evidence on our table when he went back to work. He was intending to bring it to headquarters. I have it here! If Head of Security Batto finds out he was reckless with evidence, he will fire my husband for sure!"

"I'm sorry, but-"

"Please! I will make it worth your while! I know it's not much," She dug into her pocket and flashed him three strips of latinum - half a year's wage. "But I'm desperate! If my husband loses his job, we'll be out on the streets. I can't bear the thought of living on the Omega strip!" She forced a tear and buried her head in her hands.

His eyes darted from breasts to strips, mouth open in shock. Surely the silly thing meant no harm, and it was a considerable amount of money she was flashing him. She looked to be from the Alpha or Beta streets judging by her clothes, health and attractiveness. And to consider three strips of latinum to be a meager amount...

"Well, it aint much." He lied, "And I could get in serious trouble by letting you in here." He reasoned, pretending to consider the ramifications against the low payoff.

She approached him slowly. "Did...did you want more? I have another strip of latinum, but it's all I have of our savings. My husband won't let me carry any more, he says I spend too much." She in fact had eight more, but she wasn't going to tell _him_ that.

"Yeah, I guess that will do." He snatched at the fourth strip and shoved them into his pocket, then looked around. Seeing no one, he licked his lips. "All right. Get on the hover jack here, and crouch down. Ready?"

She climbed aboard and crouched, amazed at his gullibility. "Thank you so, so much!"

"Ahh, it's nothing. All right! Let's go!"

And with a single fingerprint scan from the delivery boy, they were in Security Headquarters.

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Batto's office was at the very top floor and nestled in the right-hand corner, lined with windows. Tasha could hear his voice as he spoke to someone in hushed tones. His back was facing her, and no one else was on the floor. She crept below the partial wall that rose to only four feet, thankful for its cover. The room dimmed as outside shifted from dusk to twilight, and she felt safety within the shadows.

As she crept closer to his office, she could pick up the words of his contact. His contact had a nasally tenor quality to its voice that quickly raised her bile. Ferengi. And if Batto could communicate to the Ferengi, then there had to have been some disruption in the shield generators of his office. That meant her comm badge was probably working again, but only within the confines of his office. She slipped her hand into her pack and pulled out her comm badge. "Tasha to Commander Worf. Prepare to record this message." She doubted it would work, but it wouldn't hurt. She pressed it with her fingers, then launched it across the glass floor, where it slid underneath Batto's desk, a mere 13 inches from his right boot.

"What did he say to you?" The Ferengi asked.

"He said he didn't notice anything. Said he was looking for a cure to some virus." Batto replied, tapping something on his desk. A stylus, she thought.

"A virus does not exist where there is no one to infect! The hoo-mons lie, you can not trust them. Better you find him guilty, and execute him."

"But how will Starfleet react if I do that? The Steward is one thing. But I have to think about the consequences of attracting Starfleet's ire! We can't defend ourselves here."

She heard a characteristic hiss from the other end. Yes, these were definitely Ferengi. "It's his word against your evidence. So plant some!"

"That's not so easy!" Batto spat. "If I execute him, Starfleet will demand to see the evidence. They'll know it's a forgery. They're already asking for the shuttle computer to analyze its data."

"You must destroy that computer."

"Let's not be so hasty. What if I just give it to the Enterprise?"

"Are you insane? What if the hoo-mon lied and recorded our exchange? We would be exposed!"

"Of course." Batto had considered the possibility that La Forge may have lied.

"Destroy the evidence." The Ferengi repeated. A pause. "Wait!" He said suddenly. "What would your men do if one of them were captured by Security?"

Tasha had the distinct impression the term 'men' in this case was being used loosely to refer to the Spice smugglers.

"That's a stupid question. They aren't." He was very careful to manage stakeouts so interactions were kept to a minimum between Security and the Smugglers, that way Security was none-the-wiser.

"But what if one was?"

Batto thought for a moment. "They'd ... stage a murder. To keep him silent."

"So...?" The Ferengi leaded him. When Batto failed to make the connection, he shouted. "Make it look like a gang-hit!"

"That won't work! None of my men were captured, it's a framed Starfleet officer, remember?"

"But your men don't know that, do they? They don't know what you don't tell them! Just report that Security apprehended a Spice smuggler, and they'll do the rest. Problem solved."

"And what about Starfleet?"

"Can Starfleet hold you responsible for the crime of a smuggler?"

"They could try."

"The hoo-mons are all about rules and policies. They'll limp away when they fail to come up with any evidence. Destroy the shuttle computer, kill the officer, and be done with it."

"I suppose I have little choice." Batto mumbled. "All right. But not until I take care of the Steward. As _acting Steward_, I'm limited in power. With him deceased, all powers are bestowed."

"Whatever. We'll move our trade spot back to Zeneba in case Starfleet tries another Stakeout. And make sure your men aren't late this time! You have any idea how much profit is lost sitting around waiting?"

"Goodbye, Brom." Batto mumbled, then cut communication.

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"Did you manage to record the message, Lieutenant?"

"I managed to record some of it, captain. It was short notice." Picard raised a brow at him; a silent question. "I recorded all the important parts." Worf answered.

"'Pluck the day as it is ripe,' Tasha." He answered, then stood and tugged his shirt downwards. "All right. I want everyone in the briefing room."

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	13. Chapter 13: Ghosts

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**Chapter 13:**  
**Ghosts**

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"Lieutenant Tasha Yar has infiltrated Haven Station and Security Headquarters. She relayed Batto's end of a subspace communication through her comm badge." Picard announced, then motioned for Worf to replay the recording. The senior staff listened carefully, and Riker rubbed his forehead at the part where Batto and Brom plotted to kill Geordi.

"Apparently the careful placement of the Station's shields are creating a small vortex that allows subspace communication within his office only."

"So he can transport and communicate when everyone else can't." Riker summarized. "Talk about pulling up the rope ladder after him."

"He is without honor." Worf growled. "I recommend firing a single photon into the Shield vortex of his office. It would damage several shield generators and allow us to storm the building. I can take a few men, and secure the building within an hour."

"No. Geordi is still detained, and I don't want to commit to any rash action that may goad Batto into killing him before we can get to him. It would be safer to employ a more roundabout approach." Picard rubbed his hands together in thought.

"Am I to understand Tasha is still in the building?" Riker asked.

"Indeed. I couldn't speak to her directly without alerting Batto of her presence. Still, I am confident she will attempt to locate the shuttle computer. We will beam her aboard The Enterprise once it is safe in her hands. I'll be forwarding the data from the shuttle computer to Starfleet. I have no doubt they will support my decision to remove Geordi after it becomes evident Batto is holding one of our own hostage."

"I understand that the shuttle's computer could prove Geordi's innocence and justify removing him from Haven custody. But what about the people of Haven? Would we take Geordi and Tasha and leave Batto in power?" Deanna Troi asked.

She sensed a lot of despair along the outer rim of Haven Station, and the looming execution of Steward Rayal could only lead to further corruption and misery. The thought of letting those people continue to suffer felt wrong.

"The shuttle computer can only prove Geordi's innocence. It does not prove Batto is behind the illegal Spice Trade. Even with this recording, it isn't enough for Starfleet to approve intervention."

"They could discredit this as evidence if Batto accuses us of voice manipulation." Riker reasoned.

"Exactly."

The briefing room fell silent as the remaining senior staff brainstormed the possibilities. An idea struck Worf first.

"The Ferengi said he was going to set up a new exchange route near Zeneba. Maybe we could stake it out, and record an exchange that could further implicate Batto."

"Good idea. I will leave that to you and commander Riker. Take two shuttles." He said, lifting two fingers in emphasis. "Do not interfere with the exchange unless absolutely necessary." Worf and Riker nodded, both rising from their seats, eager for the chance to defend the Chief Engineer.

Catching Worf and Riker's eagerness, he dismissed the staff.

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Tasha waited in the shadows, spying on him. For nearly half an hour, Head Security Batto puttered around his office, signed documents and approved releases of assorted suspects. At some point he opened a safe with a hand-held device. A few keystrokes and it ran a color code, aligning itself with the safe's own pattern. The safe swung open, and Batto reached in, pulled out a small red bag, and shoved his fingers inside it. He pulled out a pinch of powder

and sniffed it. He wiped his nose and exhaled, smearing the red ochre-colored Spice across his face.

_I'm not just the owner, I'm also a customer!_ Tasha thought.

She watched as he finished his beverage and complained about it being cold, then slid open the drawer of his desk. He pulled out a square box she didn't recognize. He turned it this way and that, then spotting a button on it, he depressed it. An automated recording began to play.

**_"Ikthinia dia basa milla, canta shinivii virreck."_**

"What the hell?" He pushed the button again, and the box went silent. "It's in another language." He carelessly tossed it on his desk. How the hell was this supposed to prove La Forge's innocence if it was in another language? He sighed, then yanked out a dark metallic object. Assorted wires stuck out of it like a pin cushion, and Tasha's eyes widened. _The Shuttle Computer!_ He set it on the desk before him, then rubbed his knuckles over his lips in thought.

Brom told him to destroy it. Tasha could tell he was thinking about that very thing, and she clenched her fist. That shuttle computer was the only solid proof of Geordi's innocence that would allow Captain Picard to intervene without attracting Starfleet's wrath. If Batto moved to destroy the computer, she acknowledged she may have to assault him. She was ready to lunge for him, her center of gravity focused in the balls of her feet.

But the opportunity never surfaced; instead he growled, rubbed his tired face, then mumbled about doing it tomorrow. He scooped both items into his arms and shoved them into his safe, then slammed it shut. He turned around then and quickly left his office, forcing Tasha to dive around a corner to keep from being seen. Her foot bumped a detective's desk and caused a paper landslide.

"Shit!" She cursed under her breath, heart now pounding in her ears.

"Who's there?" He asked at the sound of the crash, and pulled out a phaser. He rounded the corner cautiously and peered around the office. He saw the stack of papers on the floor and sheathed his weapon. "Abie, clean up your damn desk." He said to no one. He made a cautious scan around the room one last time, and determining no one was there, turned to leave. She watched as he entered the glass lift. It sent him down to ground level. She waited a good three minutes after, just to make sure he didn't come back for some random purpose.

Confident she was alone and wouldn't be disturbed, she emerged from the shadows and snatched her comm badge from under Batto's desk.

"Captain Picard, can you still hear me?"

"I can, Lieutenant."

"I'm still in Batto's office. He has the shuttle computer locked in a safe." She touched the safe, analyzing its metals. "It looks like it's made with some durable poly alloy. I don't think phaser fire will open it. "I'm going to attempt to break the lock instead."

"I want you back on the enterprise the _moment_ you open that safe, Lieutenant Yar."

"Understood, sir. Tasha out."

She let in a deep breath, eying the safe. She had to get into it. Geordi's life counted on it. But it was locked, and Batto had taken the handheld key with him when he left. She reached into her bag and pulled out a tricorder and connection cable. She was reminded suddenly of her ex-boyfriend, Bel Cito.

"Well, if there's something positive I got out of that relationship, he taught me a few tricks." She said to herself as she opened a small port on the side of the safe; the very same port Batto had used the handheld key on. She attached the safe to her tricorder through the connection cable and began tapping her tricorder at record speed.

"I'll have to remember to thank him for teaching me this." She mumbled.

During their time together, he had taught her how to hack systems with a tricorder, and how to effectively modify it into a remote control, and manipulate almost any object connected to a hacked network.

The color code of the safe was blinking and shifting through the spectrum so quickly she couldn't pick up a pattern visually, but the tricorder was working seemingly just as fast, shifting through the spectrum. She figured it was only a matter of time before the pattern would sync up with the safe and open it. It gave her time to reflect on her past relationship with Ensign Cito.

Cito was socially awkward, but he was good with his hands and had a way with technology. He attributed his skills with spending a year as an exchange student with the Binaries. She recognized his skills as exemplary, and that was what had attracted her to him originally. He was smart in his own way, and if he hadn't been emotionally crippled by social interactions, he could have been a very successful Academy Professor. That, and she had recognized him as a potentially dangerous person, and it was a thrill to be with someone with such untapped talents.

She had little doubt then that he could be part of something wonderful and much bigger then himself if he just tried. She wondered why he wasn't where he belonged - on the Jupiter Science station or Daystrom Institute with other bright minds. After all, the guts of a computer was his element, and complex programs his playground. So for the life of her she couldn't understand why he avoided Commander Data like the plague. He and Data should have been best friends. Instead, he_ hated_ him. His insecurities crushed his drive to interact with others and make connections, and he never rose above Ensign.

It was a shame that so much potential had been wasted.

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"There are _two_ types of Nanoes here!" Dr. Crusher hissed from inside her lab. She entered Sick Bay. "One to dissolve..." She said, watching as it ate away a small sample of Data on the overhead screen. "And one to..." She squinted at the screen, trying to understand it. "If what I am seeing here is accurate...These two are working in tandem with each other! _How are they communicating?_"

She thought for a moment. Evidence was showing there was definite communication between the two types, nevermind how. But it wasn't perfect communication, and that delay of contact was starting to cause a problem.

"Did I just discover a flaw in the design of Professor Tana's virus?" She almost couldn't believe it. The Nanoes had such sophisticated programming that to find such a cruel - although probably unintentional - error was almost unbelievable. Over the course of Dr. Crusher's observations of the virus, she had developed a slight reverence and jealousy for Professor Tana's skill. It gave her the false impression that Tana was above oversight. But if what Dr. Crusher was looking at was true, then it cast Tana into a more human light.

"What did you find, Doctor Crusher?" Alyssa inquired.

"These two types of Nanoes are imbalanced. Not by much, but just enough." She answered quietly. "Data is developing nocireceptors by these Type II Nanoes. They're creating a neural network deep in his tissue. As each nerve is created, it's being activated. Tested, in a sense. And that could be perceived by him as pain." She leaned closer to her unresponsive patient and eyed her tricorder critically. "But his Positronic Brain is barely affected by the Nanoes at all. He doesn't have opioid or dopamine receptors, or any kind of receptor for that matter, that I could use counteract that pain."

"Maybe it's a good thing that his neural stem dissolved when it did." Alyssa observed matter-of-factly.

Beverly frowned. Yes, it probably was good that he was still disconnected from the outside world. But how long would that protection last? Natural nerves were making their way up his still-metallic spinal cord, and when they finally did meet with his preserved Neural Net, he would be connected once again between his processing brain and his body, and the developing nocireceptors within it. The dissolved nerves were like a levy against an ocean of pain.

She supposed only time would tell if she could help him when he finally awoke.

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What felt like forever passed, and the safe and tricorder was nowhere near aligning themselves right.

Lal could see the problem clearly - the tricorder didn't have enough power to match the rate of the safe as it sifted through the color code. It came close to alignment, then drifted apart. The tricorder and safe came close to interlocking three times already, but whether it was three or three thousand, the result would be the same each time. it was off by .012 seconds. It wasn't noticable to a human, but to a complex computer program, it was almost an eternity. This would not do.

"It's too slow." She said. "You need to feed more power into the tricorder." And it wouldn't take much power either. It just needed a little push. She could see Tasha's right hand holding the tricorder, and formed a plan.

If her father's neural pathways were nearly identical to a human, and she had managed to hide herself in his hand while he was seizuring, and jump from him to Yar when they touched, then theoretically she could do the same with Tasha and feed just enough power for the tricorder to mesh with the safe. All she had to do was wait for just the right moment...

"_What_...? Who...?" She heard her Tasha say. Lal could see Tasha's reflection in the shiny surface of the glass window. She could see Yar looked shocked and a little afraid, but didn't know why. But there was no time for such observations; the safe and tricorder were getting close to meshing again. Or as close to meshing as they ever would. Just a few more milliseconds and... _**NOW!**_

She dove through Tasha's nerves, down her brainstem and through her spine, into her hand and arced into the tricorder. Just a little push, that's all it needed. She felt a part of herself diminish as she attempted to load the tricorder. It beeped suddenly, and she witnessed the perfect alignment of color codes between safe and tricorder.

Now, back to Tasha. She dove again, running through Tasha's nerves back into her brain. She found going to the brain was faster than coming from, and wondered why that was.

She could see through Tasha's eyes again, and calculated her endeavor' took about .03 seconds, to and from.

A deep sense of satisfaction welled within her.

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The safe swung open, and Tasha whistled at the sight.

It was filled with bars of gold-pressed latinum and other odds and ends. Among the bars were the shuttle computer and the strange box. She grabbed both objects and shoved them into her pack.

This couldn't have gone more smoothly, yet she found herself breaking a nervous sweat. She tapped her comm badge. "Lieutenant Yar to Captain Picard."

"Go ahead."

"I have the shuttle computer, sir. I'm ready to beam aboard." And face her inevitable punishment. She paused. "Request permission to attempt contact with Geordi La Forge first. I need him to identify an object." She suspected the ancient looking box was something he picked up from Tseres IV, but she couldn't be sure. She didn't want to add unwarranted theft of Haven property if it wasn't - she was in enough hot water as it was.

"I must stress that you exercise utmost caution. Do not enter unless you are confident you won't be detected." He warned.

"I'll be careful."

"Keep me updated. I'll have O'Brien on standby. Picard out."

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There was an entity in Data's Dream. Like Lal, it moved freely about the confines of Ten-Forward, independent of him. But unlike Lal, he didn't find it benign.

It had formed slowly at first, barely noticable and beating dimly into existence like an unwelcome pulse. It materialized around the same time he began to sense something indescribable within what he perceived to be his body.

It was an unpleasant, swirling sensation, and as he felt it, the entity swirled with it. As if it was dancing to this chaotic music. And it grew in size as the sensation strengthened, and it began to block out what little light Dream-State Ten Forward had.

"Please state your intentions." He said to it firmly.

It did not reply, only grew in size. It began to vibrate suddenly, then split into two entities. The sensation within grew worse.

The two dark blobs ungulated together, and Data was reminded of the being Armus, the entity that had almost killed Lieutenant Yar and Commander Riker several years ago. But unlike the liquid entity that oozed across surfaces, these creatures were barely affected by gravity at all. They floated and swirled around the edges of his confines. They began to vibrate again, and split once more.

Now there were four of them.

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Tasha had yet to leave Batto's office. She sat still underneath Batto's desk with an uncomfortable weight in her chest. She had yet to locate Geordi and speak with him. She didn't want to return to Enterprise just yet: There was a matter she had to address first. There was something brazenly unusual happening with her since she boarded Haven. Twice she heard thoughts clearly not her own instruct her in moments of uncertainty.

For the past few hours, she had entertained uncomfortable images of flying off the hook and attacking random strangers under the influence of some malevolent alien spirit. Unlikely as the scenario was, the worry was still there, and she had to make light of it. She leaned forward in a sitting position, wrists resting over her knees. She had put it off for long enough. She took in a breath, ready to call attention to it. She spoke in a very clear and low voice, one she used to emphasize to others the seriousness of her words.

"Who are you."

Lal recognized it was a question, but it was said in the form of a statement. But no one was present, so she wondered just who she was talking to? She knew humans spoke to themselves often, usually to redirect thoughts or reassure themselves in times of inner struggle. But this question was not something she understood to be self-serving.

"You helped me in the alley, then again here. I'm assuming you're benevolent. So who are you?"

_"You can hear me?"_ Lal replied, astonished. If she had a mouth, it would have been open in shock.

"I can. Why are you possessing me? What are your intentions here?"

Intentions? Possession? Lal was alarmed at the aggressiveness of the questions. She recognized that aggression stemmed from fear and a need for Tasha to protect herself. It made Lal want to laugh. Someone as strong as Yar was afraid of little old her? What an absurd fear! she was programmed to assist humans.

_"I apologize. I wasn't intending to possess you, it just happened."_

That did it. She felt Tasha's body relax. Apparently being possessed was touchy business.

"Please don't think I'm not grateful for your help. But I don't take kindly to possession. Will you leave?"

_Damn;_ Lal thought. She was beginning to like Tasha. Never had she felt such excitement before. Tasha's life was much more dangerous than her father's was, which she found to be very organized and proper; maybe even predictable. The change was unexpected and riveting.

She supposed she could associate her father's Neural Net and his designated pathways as a sort of nursery - It was safe and there were things to do - but when she was forced to flee his seizured pathways, she passed from his body to Yar's in the brief moment that they held hands. Now that she experienced Yar's dangerous world, and now that her universe expanded with new possibilities, she wasn't sure she wanted to go back to the dull-by-comparison monotony.

But Yar didn't appreciate Lal's presence within her mind, so the ex-android figured she had little choice in the matter. Lacking a body as she was, she would have to go back to her father. That was assuming, of course, that she could go back.

_"I can't at the moment."_

"You mean to tell me you're stuck here? With me?" Tasha sounded upset.

_"I promise I won't interfere. I can't even control you."_

"Wait. You tried to control me?"

_"Before I knew you had a ghost, yes."_

"Ghost!?"

_"Yes. You have what I have chosen to refer to as a ghost; a self-awareness that defines you as a separate entity from someone else that spans beyond physical features and beliefs. Klingons often equate their souls to Honor. The Bajorans call it Pah. Humans call it Chi, spirit, soul, or inner-light."_

Tasha remained silent. This entity sounded a lot like Data when he over-explained an observation; the similarity made her feel uncomfortable. The entity continued on her explanation, oblivious to Tasha's sudden concentration on the sick android back on Enterprise.

_"At first I thought you were a shell, like my previous hosts. But this viscera doesn't respond to my commands. I have to assume your ghost is dominant over mine."_

"Well, that's a relief at least." She didn't much care for being defined as _viscera_, but let it slide. What else would a shell-dweller call her, after all?

"So you're an energy-being?"

She thought about it for a moment. She could say she was an android designed after a human, but that wasn't what she was anymore. And it probably would add too much complexity too soon. Regardless of how she started out in life, she was all electro-magnetic now. _"I suppose I am."_

"What's your name?"

_"My name is Lal."_ She said it matter-of-factly, as if surprised Yar didn't recognize her. But then again, why would she? Her life began and ended after Yar left Enterprise, and it was likely none of the Enterprise crew mentioned her.

"Lal? That's a pretty name. I'm assuming you already know mine?"

_"I do."_

"I want you to know that when I get back to Enterprise, I will attempt to remove you."

_"I understand. I will cooperate with your efforts when the time comes."_

"Good!" She smiled, relieved. The communication with this entity was cordial and polite, not like the battle of wills most possessive aliens harkened to. This being, whatever it was, had to be one of the friendliest she had ever met. "With that out of the way. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lal."

And with that sorted, she could focus on finding Geordi.

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	14. Chapter 14: The Demise of Mr Snuffles

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**Chapter 14:**  
**The Untimely Demise of Mr. Snuffles**

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It had been over two Earth days since Geordi left The Enterprise, and he was starting on his second night in Haven's quiet jail cell. He missed the sound of Enterprise's engine; that electronic breath was nearly a constant in Geordi's life. To not hear it made him feel almost disconnected from life itself.

Being detained in Haven wasn't a terrible experience by any means. He was treated well enough. It was by no means a Cardassian prison camp, and he never lost sight of that perspective. Things could be considerably worse.

But the long and lonely nights had a way of clouding his thoughts with concern for his friend. How was he? Was he still in the same state he last saw him? He knew EVE was still dissolving Data's components, leaving unrepairable damage in its wake. He tried to think of other things to keep himself from feeling sick for that plucky android, but his thoughts always managed to drift back to him.

He realized belatedly that they were both going to miss his poetry recital. He rolled over on his cot. It wouldn't be so bad if he was allowed to talk to Picard and get an idea of how he was doing, or get confirmation from Batto that he delivered the Auto Writer. There was no guarantee it would allude to a cure, but he would never know sitting in here, with the artifact in the shuttle out there.

He had left Data in a somewhat stable condition, jerry-rigged to feed off The Enterprise directly to keep him operational, twitching like his brother.

He never even had the time to ask Data what feature it was that he felt was too valuable to risk going offline for - and essentially sacrifice himself to try to preserve. That was something that Geordi concentrated on often, now that his mind was left idle in this restrictive space.

Would he return in time to help him? Or would he come back to a lifeless husk? The mental image of the Cyber Ana, leaking red fluid from ears, nose and mouth invaded his thoughts, and he cursed, trying to banish the terrible thought. He sat up and rest his head in his hands. Data had been leaking red fluid. Why didn't he recognize it was an EVE infection earlier? "I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner." He confessed.

Maybe he was dead already.

He heard the electronic click of the heavy jail door. It swung open automatically, and he heard a whisper. "Geordi!"

He leapt to his feet and stood a mere inch from the force field that restricted him to his cell. "Tasha!" He exclaimed as she entered the cell and pushed her hooded cloak past her ears. "Are you a sight for sore eyes!"

"How are they treating you?"

"Well enough. What is going on? The guards won't tell me anything."

She slung the pack off her shoulder. "Steward Rayal is scheduled to be executed in two days, and Batto is planning to do the same to you right after." She explained simply, digging into her pack. "He's scheduled to meet with Captain Picard to discuss your release, but don't expect anything to come from that." She heard the drunk in the corner snort and roll over.

"How do you know all this?"

"Hey!" The drunk shouted from the other cell. The guards had felt it appropriate to relocate him to his own cell after he tried to steal one of Geordi's shoes. He slowly rose to his feet, teetered, and peered at Tasha. "Who'sh she?"

"I was eavesdropping in his office." Tasha explained quickly, ignoring the other man. "He's definitely behind the spice trade, and he's working with Ferengi."

"You know, I was kind of hoping you'd give me some _good_ news."

"Aren't you going to introdushe me to your pretty friend, Geordi?" The drunk asked.

"Is this good enough for you?" She asked with a pleasant smile and pulled out the shuttle computer, and then a metallic looking box. "Do you recognize this?" Geordi's eyes grew wide underneath his visor at the sight of it.

"The auto writer!" He laughed. "Tasha, I could kiss you!"

"Shh!" She hissed, a blush creeping up her neck. "You want me to get caught?"

"Cau- Oh, no. You're here without authorization, aren't you? Tasha, do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?"

"No, please tell me!" She snapped. "I'm sorry." She added hastily after seeing Geordi cock his head in reply to her curtly quip.

"What I gotta do to be on top of that fine pieshe of meat?"

"Shut up!" They snapped in unison, glaring at the still heavily intoxicated Havener. The drunk backed away slowly and raised his hands in defense. Tasha turned back to Geordi, looking serious.

"Geordi, I can't risk shutting off this containment field, it'll trip an alarm. I have to leave you here." She lifted the shuttle computer. "This has to get to The Enterprise. None of this will matter if I get caught trying to free you. I just had to make sure you were all right first."

"Well I'm doing fine." He answered honestly, then forced a question he didn't want to ask for fear of the answer. "How is Data?"

Tasha looked from Auto Writer to visor. She held her gaze and swallowed. How was she supposed to delicately tell him, while he's in jail, that his best friend was essentially comatose?

He understood her reluctance as confirmation of the worst, and felt as if he had been punched in the chest. "He's dead, isn't he?" He spun around suddenly and faced the wall as a wave of grief hit him again. He was not going to cry here in this cell. He was not.

"No, Geordi! No. He was alive last I saw him." She watched Geordi turn to face her slowly. She noticed his right cheek was slick with moisture. "It's just. The last I saw him he was offline." She answered as simply as she could.

"So there's still a chance." Geordi said hopefully. "Promise me you'll get the Auto Writer to Enterprise?"

She nodded. "I promise."

"Tasha, be careful." Geordi said, resisting the urge to hug her.

She backed out of the jail. "I will. And I'll see you back on Enterprise."

_._

_._

_._

"Sensors are showing a very strong electrical storm near one of Zeneba's moons, in the upper troposphere." Worf observed from the first shuttle.

"Maybe we can use it as cover, as long as it doesn't interfere with our stake out." He tapped the controls. "All right, let's go down." Riker and Worf descended the layers of atmosphere in their shuttles, and both heard and felt the buzz as a lightning bolt struck the two hulls.

"If I modify the sensors just so, we should still be able to see them, but they shouldn't see us." Riker said, then set the shuttle on autopilot to hover still. "And now the waiting game." He folded his arms, resigning himself to a long night of inactivity. But for the people of Haven, it was worth it.

"Not a game," Worf rumbled in a satisfied sort of way. "Hunt. The hunt always begins by waiting. Position and Patience will yield its reward."

Riker blinked. Hunt? He rolled the concept over his brain. "I guess it is."

"I have felt the spirit of the hunt around me like thunder. It is alive, and stalking." He nodded and smiled. He felt it first in his quarters two days before. "We honor its presence by hunting ourselves. I could think of no other worthy hunting partner."

From a Klingon, that was quite the compliment. He chuckled, feeling honored. "Don't praise me just yet, Worf."

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She tapped her comm badge. "This is Lieutenant Yar to O'brien. One to beam up." She said.

"Stand By." O'brien chimed back, and she dematerialized from Batto's office.

O'brien nodded to her in acknowledgement. "O'brien to Picard. Lieutenant Yar is back aboard the Enterprise."

"Please instruct her to wait in the transporter room for security escort." Picard replied.

"Roger that. O'brien out." He gave her a playful look. "Is Picard going to have to give you spanking, Lieutenant?"

"Sounds like it." She reflected. "I don't remember having parents, but I have a feeling I would have elicited quite a few. I suppose I'm overdue."

"I was in a perpetual state of whippings as a lad. I'd tell my father during a paddling session that it was worth it. I would always get a few more before they were done." He winked.

She laughed. "You? A troublemaker?"

"Don't you forget it." He smiled. "I wouldn't worry too much though. Picard's bark is always worse than his bite, I find."

"I know. It's not so much the punishment as the shame I can't stand."

"A sign of a good leader, I say."

The transporter room doors slid open, and two security officers respectfully approached. They looked unnerved at the prospect of arresting Tasha Yar, as they respected her as their superior. She was a good chief of security when she held the position. But that honor had been bestowed to Worf after she transferred off the Enterprise, and when she returned, she was under his command. Worf had advanced - she had not. Still, she caught their reluctance. "Well, gentlemen, I believe you have some escorting to do." She commanded, and they relaxed.

"Please relinquish any weapons you may have on your person."

She slid the pack off her shoulder. "I'm unarmed. But please make sure the shuttle computer and Auto Writer go to Captain Picard." They agreed and grabbed the bag gingerly, as if it were holding explosives. "And be careful with it! One is a priceless artifact." She walked with them through the corridors and into the turbo lift and down to the brig, where Captain Picard stood waiting. She slowed her walk and stood at attention.

"Lieutenant Yar." Picard stated dryly. He recognized she was still in Haven civilian dress, having not enough time to change to Starfleet attire.

"You understand that your actions are in direct violation of _my_ interpretation of the Prime Directive? And that your boarding Haven Station put the diplomacy between Haven Station and Starfleet at risk?" _And allowed us to prove Chief Engineer Geordi's innocence, returned the artifact to possibly help Commander Data, and gave us a means to implicate Head Security Batto and potentially restore order to Haven?_ Picard hadn't lost sight of that, but this was a moment dedicated to discipline, not praise.

"I do, Captain."

"And what do you have to say for yourself?"

"I understand that I willingly disobeyed your orders, and your interpretation of the Prime Directive, to follow through with Steward Rayal's request for assistance, sir. I take full responsibility for my actions. I trust my captain implicitly, that whatever his decision may be regarding my reprimand will be appropriate for my misconduct."

"Good answer. I am relieving you of duty, and you will spend the next three days in the brig. This will go on your permanent record." With a jerk of his head, the security officers lead her into a cell, which she willingly walked into.

"I'll do that." Captain Picard told the officer who stood at the security Relay station. He activated the interface and raised the force field. He watched her flinch at the gesture. It wasn't just him ordering her detainment, he was doing it himself. "Make sure you bring Lieutenant Yar a proper uniform." He maneuvered around the relay station to leave. He stopped just short of the doors.

"You're lucky you aren't being court-martialled!" He barked, to drive the message home, then left the brig.

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"Now what made you think that jumping off your father's Bat'leth mounting brackets was a good idea?" Dr. Crusher asked, trying to straighten Alexander's arm. "And how did you even get up there?"

"Spot did it and she was fine." He resisted a cry of pain, clamping his lips firmly shut to keep the noise inside his mouth. He wiggled to and fro, trying to fight his instinctual need to resist Dr. Crusher's healing hands.

"A copycat, are you? Does that hurt?" She asked, already knowing the answer. He shook his head no, as she suspected he would. She recognized it took a lot of bravery for the young Klingon to come to Sick Bay alone. It wasn't something his father was known to do, and having to go to Sick Bay with a broken arm along with being racked with shame over his admittance of pain would be too much for the young Klingon to bear. To be able to say 'No' was to have some small shred of strength his ego could cling to in his time of personal crisis.

"It's a hairline fracture, but it's not bad. Hold it straight like this, and I'll be right back."

Alexander looked across Sick Bay to where Data lay inert. He felt he needed to say something.

"Spot is a great huntress." He told Data, who stayed unresponsive. Alexander stared at him until Dr. Crusher returned. She hovered a device over his arm to encourage the bone to heal.

"I heard you tell Commander Data that Spot is a good huntress. I take it you brought her to the holodeck?" She asked, remembering Worf's desire to hone her skills from their last poker game.

"N-no..." He answered shyly, then stared at the floor, the walls, the ceiling - anywhere but Doctor Crusher.

She shut off the device and instructed him to wiggle his fingers and move his arm at varying angles. She eyed a tiny puncture in his arm. He knew she saw it, and he quickly pulled down his sleeve in an effort to hide it. She gently grabbed his arm and pulled up the sleeve. Yes, that was definitely a puncture.

"What is this? Did Spot bite you?" She grabbed her tricorder. It didn't look like a cat bite...

"No!" He exclaimed.

"Then where did this bite come from? It almost looks like a vole bite." She had become accustomed to treating Vole bites over the last several weeks.

Mr. Snuffles was a Cardassian vole the Enterprise School kept. It was an inherited animal that used to be a late crew member's pet. It was intended to be an educational experience for the children to share in its care. Only the vole didn't appreciate being in the school, or appreciate being handled at all. Needless to say, bites became the norm.

After a few weeks of trying to tame the rodent, the school determined the animal was a vicious, horrible offense to the living, and resigned it to the back of the class, where it growled at the children from its container. It ate and slept and scratched at its glass confines, its hot breath fogging the surface. It hated everything. Enterprise was already working to convince a Cardassian Wildlife Reserve to take it. Evidently, the Cardassians hated them as much as the Voles hated life in general. Then it ended up missing two days ago.

Two days ago, after Worf took Spot to his quarters. And if Spot wasn't taken to the holodeck... Realization suddenly dawned, and she stared at Alexander in horror. "Alexander, you didn't!"

"I didn't mean for her to catch it! I thought it could outrun her!" The voles were surprisingly fast. Not fast enough, apparently. "I just wanted to know what would happen."

"Maybe you should tell me everything." Dr. Crusher's mothering instincts took over, and she folded her arms authoritatively over her chest. The innocent curiosity of little boys that resulted in cruel endings for fuzzy creatures spanned all species, apparently.

Alexander explained how he crept out of school with the vole securely restrained underneath his arm. The vole bit into him, but he employed his father's teachings on how to use pain to concentrate on fulfilling a goal. Those teachings were sound, and they worked. The vole had its teeth embedded in his flesh, but it couldn't escape as the young boy brought it to his quarters, and Spot.

Once in his quarters while his father was away, he let it loose to see what would happen. One of Alexander's friends accompanied him, and they made a bet as to who would win the fight. Cardassia or Earth? Since both children had some diluted connection to Planet Earth through natural inheritance, they hoped the latter would win. Assuming a fight would occur at all. Death wasn't really something they considered; young as they were, they had failed to consider that consequence.

After spotting the female vole, Spot's eyes locked onto her target. She moved as if in slow motion, head fixed low and shoulders high. She slowly closed the gap between herself and the oblivious Cardassian creature, tail twitching in anticipation. She wiggled her butt as she prepared for a leap, then lunged. Everything else happened so quickly, vole and feline were nothing but hazy orange and tawny blurs as they sprinted through the quarters at breakneck speed.

His father's sculpture was knocked off its pedestal, and Worf entered the quarters just in time to watch it shatter. So focused on the breaking of the statue, he failed to notice the ruckus in the corner. He tried to cross the room just as the vole leapt from the corner with a spine-chilling squeal and cross his path, making him lose his balance. Worf fell on the vole as Alexander and his friend watched the events unfold with terror, eyes round as saucer plates. The vole wiggled out from underneath the mature Klingon and hissed at him from atop his chest. This gave Spot just enough time to leap from the same corner and wrap her arms around its ribcage and deliver a bite to its neck, with Worf the unsuspecting platform to Vole Murder.

Worf watched the debacle, frozen in place. It wasn't from shock of the moment that kept him still, but respect for the kill. The vole writhed and gasped as she crushed its neck underneath her jaws, suffocating it, with her claws hopelessly planted into its flesh to keep it still. The life faded from the vole's eyes and grew limp at long last. She dragged the carcass off Worf's chest and behind a chair to make work of her kill.

Horrified, Alexander tried to grab the dead vole, and elicited a bark from Worf to leave it alone. "A Klingon does not take another's kill!" His voice turned gentle as Alexander retreated from Spot, who was already meowing a warning to keep back.

"She will feast." He clamped a strong arm around his son's shoulder. "And you will tell your teacher about Mr. Snuffles' demise."

"Am I in trouble?" Alexander had asked nervously.

He glanced around his quarters, enjoying the vibrant energy the chase had left in its nooks and crannies. The spirit of the hunt had visited here. Would he punish his son for bringing this gift into his home? "Not by me. But your teacher is another matter." It was the school's pet, after all, nevermind the vole and school children held a mutual hatred for each other.

By the end of the story, Dr. Crusher's hand was covering her mouth. Alexander's story was a riveting one, and he witnessed Nature's circle of life first-hand. She had to admit it was a morbidly educational experience for the young boy. "Well, I hope you learned your lesson about treating helpless animals with more respect." She said a little weakly.

"I did." He admitted. "May I go? The O'briens are watching me while father is gone, and I didn't tell them I went to Sick Bay. They don't like it if I'm gone too long."

She helped him off the Sick Bay bed. On his way out, he detoured to Data's side.

He pulled out a thin object from his pocket - a small bracelet decorated with Mr. Snuffles' defleshed claws. He draped it across Data's hand. "Here, Spot would want you to have this." He tied it around Data's wrist as Captain Picard entered Sick Bay with a metallic box tucked underneath one arm. Upon seeing the captain, Alexander rushed for the exit. He knew the captain hated children: His father made that fact perfectly clear, and Alexander made it a point not to raise the captain's ire after the unfortunate death of the school's evil mascot.

He stopped just shy of the door and spun around. "I'm sorry about Mr. Snuffles, captain!" Alexander blurted, then ran out of Sick Bay.

Picard's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Mr. Snuffles?"

Beverly resisted the urge to laugh. "A terrible calamity involving the school's disgruntled pet." She explained. "Apparently, Data's cat found it irresistable."

"Oh." Picard replied, feigning marginal interest.

"And what's this?" Crusher stared at the Auto Writer nestled under his arm.

He handed it to her. "Compliments of Lieutenant Yar. Geordi uncovered it on Tseres IV. Hopefully it may help you in treating Commander Data."

She lifted it with her slender hands. "You expect me to translate this?" She felt overwhelmed by the prospect. Damn it she was a doctor, not a programmer.

"Half is already translated. The other half should go smoothly, just feed it into your lab console under Geordi's program, and it should do the rest."

"I'll do my best." She sounded skeptical.

Picard made his leave, taking a moment to eyeball the odd bracelet wrapped around Data's exposed wrist. "Rest in peace, Mr. Snuffles."

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Dr. Crusher entered her office and updated Alexander's medical file. His was another one that was abruptly short compared to the other children of the Enterprise; his was the shortest next to Data and his father. Data's was understandable - he was an android. Worf simply avoided Sick Bay at all costs, considering medical treatment a sign of physical weakness. He would rather suffer at long lengths than seek relief. Clearly, the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

"Treated hairline fracture in patient's left arm and given standard dose for pain management. Said he broke it while falling from a mounting bracket in his quarters." She quoted as she typed. With her update complete, she grabbed the Auto Writer. "And now for you."

Jean-Luc had told her the first half was already complete. She attached it to the computer and ran it through Geordi's program. She figured by the time she was done listening to the first half, the second should be nearly complete.

She played the first installment, which yielded little information to help her. It summarized nearly the complete extinction of Tana's kind, with the virus being the main tool used. She felt disappointed that it had yet to explain how Data was randomly sprouting organs. She pinned her hair up behind her. She had a minute left before the last installment was ready, and she reflected on the recent events that led Data to Sick Bay.

Data had lost power and gone offline, and he was carried to Engineering. Geordi had found programs offline and hardware dissolved, but he hadn't anticipated the virus as the culprit: Geordi's updated Engineering tricorder had picked up static instead of the red blood cells the nanoes were hiding in. An engineering tricorder had no way of recognizing complex biological material.

There was no way for Geordi to know what that static had represented without prying Data open and taking a look. After Geordi left and she scanned him with her medical tricorder, the static turned out to be blood and organs, but she hadn't picked up the nanoes either - they were technological and that would require an engineering tricorder! It was a catch-22 that could have resulted in Data's organic and technological death had chief Argyle not anticipated the ill-conceived upgrade and preserved a tricorder for himself.

She looked at the tricorder. She understood he wanted it back, but she needed it more, and she used her authority as doctor to keep Argyle silent about her acquisition of it. It worked like heaven, and she could see with perfect clarity that Data had both mechanical parts and organs. Granted, they were oxygen and nutrient-starved organs. They were in a constant state of death and regrowth by overworked nanoes and an incomplete vasculatory system. The nanoes were leaching his nutritive fluid and siphoning his energy to continually repair the tissue damage, but unable to make any headway. The leakage from his nose and arm wasn't even tainted fluid; it was good-old-fashioned blood.

After he seizured and she moved him to Sick Bay, she had him attached to an external pacemaker, oxygenation machine and blood purifier - life support, in a sense. All of the machines routed into young veins in his wrist and gave him what he needed to survive. He had lacked a stomach, heart, lungs, and kidneys - the essentials for life as an organic being. And once attached to Sick Bay's assorted tools, his acute organ failure ceased, and the Nanoes continued to develop and dissolve.

She understood all of this. But why? And how? Why regrow organs in your enemy? Wasn't the point of the virus to murder the enemy, not restore it? And how did these nanoes know to make _human_ organs as opposed to, say, Bajoran organs? And what side effects and problems could she expect?

The other half of the Auto Writer finished translating. She played the file.

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**I have an idea. It's crazy, but maybe. Just maybe!**

**As I was lying on my cot and needlessly fussing over my thinning hair, I had an epiphany! I remembered when Noreen had asked me if the EVE virus restored organs in the infected, which it did not. **

**But that has me thinking. What is a double helix but a complex code? It is no different than the thirty-thousand lines of source code I installed in the pototype nano, save that a double helix is insurmountably more complex and infinitesimally longer. **

**If I can program the EVE viral nanoes to ignore a double helix and dissolve metals, then I can program another nano to recognize and assist that helix in cellular reproduction.**

**Noreen thinks my idea is far-fetched, and for once I agree with her. But we have nothing left to lose, so she is willing to help me with the code. **

**I have to find a way of getting these nanoes to produce stem cells from whatever DNA may be left in a Cyber after their cyberization. **

**If I can do this ... I might be able to grow new organs specific to their original natural bodies. I am bound to come across some complications and am not sure how to test this. Ana is still, regrettably, dead. She can not aid me with my scientific discovery. And I am not sure Mistra or Vaska would volunteer for such a dangerous experiment. It is possible my work will stay incomplete. But and least I'm doing something, instead of waiting for my death.**

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**We have finished the code, and not a moment too soon. I am exhausted. Half the day I could barely think straight. I have my prototype nanoes programmed, and Mistra has volunteered to receive the new virus. I have called it DAWN, **

**for lack of mental acuity to think of something better. Vaska was very vocal against this experiment, and has threatened me multiple times on what he will do to me if I experiment on her. But Mistra is determined to help in any way **

**she can. I think she fancies the idea of being a Natural again. Vaska is no longer on speaking terms with anyone. I can't be certain, but I believe he has a fondness for her.**

**I have injected her with three times the normal amount of nanoes that EVE required, to lessen the time between initial infection and critical mass. I am on borrowed time, after all. As of this moment, she shows no signs of infection, save for a slight buildup of internal fluid and nose bleeds. **

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**Vaska has gone to the surface. We haven't heard from him in days. **

**Mistra complained of pain today. She wasn't able to pinpoint precisely where the pain was coming from. But since Cybers don't have pain chips and that part of their brain is traditionally removed during cyberization, I have to assume the virus is restoring those sections in her tissues. **

**And I don't have any anesthetics in the lab to ease it. I tried to program the nanoes to be selective in what organs they assisted with first, but the body and its stem cells have a mind of their own.**

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**I wanted to clarify that the DAWN virus is not entirely a separate virus from EVE. It is a combination of both. As Mistra's new cells divide and grow with the assistance of DAWN, some of her hardware becomes obsolete and even dangerous. **

**EVE and DAWN both work in tandem together, with DAWN dictating when EVE may dissolve redundant metals. I was afraid this buildup of waste would taint Mistra's blood supply, but it seems the main method of waste removal is through the nose. But unlike Ana, these metals are being eliminated in blood, not internal liquid that merely looks like blood. **

**I can't be entirely certain, but it looks as though in only a few days after the REPRODUCTIVE stage began, she has a fully functioning circulatory system. It has been a long time since I could say that I look forward to what tomorrow holds. **

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**Mistra... is dead. She didn't have enough energy to continue generating organs and sustain her life at the same time. **

**I should have known better! I can only imagine the nutritional requirements needed to grow an entire body in such a short amount of time. That she survived this long is miraculous. Even so, she hadn't yet developed a liver and kidneys to filter her blood. She could have seizured from blood poisoning just as easily as starvation, I suppose. If I weren't stuck here and had access to a hospital, I feel I could have done more for her.**

**In any event, I am heading to the surface to place the Data Recorder, this Auto Writer, and the combination DAWN/EVE virus in a secure place for later discovery. Perhaps an uninfected Cyber will find it and revive our species. **

**I modified a compressed gas container to hold the virus in suspended animation. I don't know how long it will stay preserved, but it's all I have to work with. The gas should not harm DAWN or EVE. **

**Hopefully, whoever finds it will have the wisdom to handle it with utmost care - it used to be a self defense weapon that projected short-range needles to anesthetize perpetrators. I didn't bother to remove the needles since I have no use for them. Though I have removed the sleeping agent. I think Noreen and myself could use it. It will be quick and peaceful that way.**

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**Entry Date Unknown**

**I m-m-met V-Vaska on the surface. He... Asked me how Mistra wa-was do-doing. When I told him she died, he he he attacked me. I sho-shot him with one of the virus-soaked needles. I was j-j-ju-just trying to get him off me, I wasn't trying to inf-fect him! He didn't see it that way. He... ripped off m-my arm. Those Cybers are s-strong! I don't have much time before I pass out. I'm going to store these objects i - safe location around the lab. I th-think I can do that. Then I will sh-shut off the containment f-field and try to... head back down to my lab. The rains will s-start soon, and the w-water should bring enough silt into the lower levels... to give us an adequate burial.**

**If anyone out there hh-hears this... I tried.**

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"End Auto Writer translation."

She held the auto writer in her numb fingers, goosebumps making the hair on the nape of her neck rise; to hear someone speak of their disembodiment, imminent death and burial in the same entry left her with a bizarre and uncomfortable feeling. She took in a deep breath.

"Well. That explains a few things." Beverly said to no one in particular. She looked into the Sick Bay and at Commander Data. He was beginning to physically reflect the damage ravaging within now; his polymer skin had begun to wrinkle and bubble, and his synthetic hair was falling out. Even with the Auto Writer's complete retelling of the DAWN/EVE virus, and the implied need of any infected patient - constant nutrition - she felt powerless.

Beverly knew she was in uncharted waters, here. The only live experiment had died under deplorable conditions, so if there were any adverse reactions down the road (how could there not be?) she would have no clue about it until it was at her doorstep. She couldn't help but feel terrible for her Android friend.

or was that Cyber now? She smiled sadly at the thought. Since he was in possession of a good number of non-essential organs, yes he would have to be redefined as a Cybernetic person.

"Well, Tana subscribed nutrition." She went to her medical replicator. "Glucose, injectable." She ordered. It materialized, and she grabbed it. He had blood, but no stomach with which to eat. He was still feeding off the Enterprise directly, and the only nutrition his organs received were the 70-something mg/dl glucose in his constantly renewing blood. She figured the nanoes needed to give him a new blood supply every time his blood sugar ran too low from developing more tissue. Raising his blood sugars to 110 wouldn't cause much damage, she figured. She fed the glucose into the oxygenation tube that housed his blood.

"Let's see if this boosts your cell growth a bit."

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	15. Chapter 15: What a Wonderful World

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**Chapter 15:**  
**What a Wonderful World**

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"Sensors are picking up a fluctuation characteristic of a warp-drive capable engine... But I am not seeing anything." Worf peered into that dark abyss, hoping to spot something. Odd, he should be able to see it from this distance. He looked back down at the computer readings. "Temperature sensors are also detecting in the same area a significant increase, also characteristic to a ship."

"It has a cloaking device." Riker reasoned. "I thought we were dealing with Ferengi. Maybe we still are." He rubbed his beard nervously. "Let's just hope it isn't Romulan."

"The Ferengi are not above stealing salvage." Worf observed with a curl of his lip.

"If they did salvage it, I'd like to know how they managed to get it to work with their systems."

Worf's eyes narrowed. "There is another signature, and I'm picking up subspace communication between the two."

"Can we tap into the signal without being discovered?"

"I'm already on it." A few seconds later, Worf shook his head. "There is too much interference."

"Can you isolate the source of the interference?"

"Yes." Worf's expression turned grave. "Commander! Sensors are picking up a significantly sized solar flare from Zeneba's parent star."

"How significant, Mr. Worf?" Already, Riker had begun to break a nervous sweat. This couldn't be any worse timing.

"Calculating..."

Riker could see through the view screen that Worf had paled at the sensor's readings. If it made Worf tremble, then this didn't bode well. "How much time do we have until it hits us?" He asked quickly. Maybe they had enough time to flee?

"NONE!" He answered. "Routing all power to shields! Commander! Link yours with mine!" Just as he shouted, they could hear their hastily combined shields shudder under the impact of the flare. The shuttle lurched forward from the impact, and Riker and Worf grabbed onto their station to keep themselves steady.

The electrical storm's cloudy haze began to shift with the direction of the star's violent plasma, blowing the atmosphere of the moon away like a dandelion puff. The storm clouds that shielded them from visuals and sensors dissipated, exposing their position to the still unidentified vessel. The wave of plasma passed, taking out their systems for a brief moment.

They sat in their shuttles in direct view of the other ship, staring wide-eyed as it decloaked to raise its shields before the mass of plasma struck it. It _was_ Ferengi! They watched as the plasma encased the shields. They flickered, but held. The Coronal Mass Ejection passed the ship.

Now without the cover of the planet's atmosphere and most systems offline, they realized they were sitting ducks.

The computer systems blipped back to life suddenly, but power was low. "Commander! They are lowering their shields!" Worf warned, body suddenly tingling from adrenaline. He could see a small glow from the Ferengi vessel begin to light up as the ship geared up for a direct shot at the two tiny shuttle crafts.

"I think we have enough energy to beam onto their ship." Without so much as an answer, Riker was attempting to hack their transporter controls. If they were smugglers, they probably didn't have up-to-code protection. His attempt was rewarded with an out-of-date Ferengi code, and he locked onto their own signatures. "Get ready, Worf!"

They dematerialized as the shuttles were blown, quite literally, to tiny little bits.

Worf rematerialized into what looked like a Ferengi cargo bay, where one short Ferengi bent over a large stack of objects. He spun around at the sound of the transport, dropped his scanning device, and emitted a high-pitched shriek of terror as the Klingon tackled him to the ground. Riker came up behind them, grabbing an empty barrel and lifting its lid. "Put him in here!" He ordered, and after delivering a single punch to disorient the Ferengi, Worf shoved him into the barrel, and Riker secured the lid.

"He'll have maybe thirty minutes in there, let's go find some munitions. There has to be some on a smuggling ship."

Worf was already making his way through the cargo hold, and smiled ferally at the beautiful sight before him. Indeed, there was a very large pile of shining, virgin metal. It was almost blue in appearance, durable and expensive. The pallet was piled high with the material, shaped into large circular blades tipped with jagged edges. Weapons. "This is Vulcan metal." Worf admired as he claimed a Cleaving Ring for himself. "They could not have obtained this metal legally." He recognized that highly prized metal was used strictly for Vulcan ships, not instruments of Warfare.

"It's not a big ship, and Ferengi always under staff and overwork. It's more cost-efficient, so there can't be many on board. I say we storm the bridge."

"I agree." Worf said, feeling the rush of excitement pulse through him. Yes, the spirit of the hunt was still here, and he was ready to appease it. Such a special audience needed a sight worthy of its attention. He shouted, his words bouncing off the cargo's walls. "Live as warriors, then Die!"

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_"Tasha. Doesn't it bother you to be in here?"_ She heard Lal ask.

"Bother me? Why would it bother me?"

_"Humans consider protecting one's friends to be an honorable act worthy of reward and praise, and yet you are here. Containment within small spaces are perceived as the epitome of punishment in your culture, is it not? You are in a paradox."_

"Not really." Tasha answered quietly and stole and investigative look towards the oblivious security officer. She was speaking quietly enough that he didn't hear her; a relief, since she didn't care for him to perceive her as a loony. "As a Starfleet officer, I am obligated to follow the orders of my Captain. And Captain Picard was attempting to protect Geordi through diplomacy. I disobeyed his direct order. It is for _that_ reason alone that I am being punished."

_"But, punishment is designed to cause negative emotions in the punished, but you are not affected. Why?"_

"Because it was worth it." To repeat O'Brien's earlier words. In a way, she supposed he helped her cope by suggesting that mental state before Picard sentenced her to spend time in the brig. She would have to ask him how he knew the Captain would resort to this later, and thank him. "Sometimes you have to sacrifice yourself for those you love."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Tasha thought she may have fallen asleep, because the next time Lal spoke, she opened her eyes and experienced a brief moment of disorientation. "I'm sorry, what?"

_"You told me that it is an act of love to sacrifice yourself to preserve the life of another."_

"Mmm?" She asked wearily. What time was it? It had to be near 23:00...

_"My father attempted to sacrifice himself to lengthen my lifespan. I understood that he did not love me. But that act implies otherwise."_

"Sounds like it." She mumbled, barely aware of her own words.

_"Yes. It is a comforting thought. Thank you."_

"You're welcome." She was beginning to drift to sleep again.

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It was too much. Data couldn't move anymore; and if he didn't know he was incapable of feeling pain, he would describe it _as_ pain.

The dark entities blocked out all light except for the tiny little spot where he stood immobile, and could do nothing but watch as they descended down upon him in every direction, and he couldn't help but wonder; was this moment immediately preceeding his imminent death? Is this what it was like for humans to die? It was fascinating... but... somehow, he did not care to study it.

Curious, that in the very moment that he would emulate the most human act imaginable, he could not bring himself to analyze it further. He was simply too distracted by the terrible sensations to care. So he waited instead.

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Nurse Ogawa was manning the Sick Bay alone tonight.

Dr. Crusher had been invited to see a new holodeck program with Captain Picard, but she had to politely turn him down because she had to monitor her patient. Nurse Ogawa recognized a tiny sliver of frustration towards Data in Crusher's professional eyes as she looked at him, but it was only there for a fraction of a second before it was gone. The Captain took her decline gracefully, but Nurse Ogawa could practically hear the yipes of a wounded puppy as he left Sick Bay.

Commander Data had been stable (as far as being on complete life support was stable) for the last 24 hours with very little change, so she talked Dr. Crusher out of the ship's hospice with the promise she would call her if anything changed. Dr. Crusher had given her an excited, almost desperate round of thanks and left, eager for a few minutes break from her station, and ran to catch up with the Captain with the news of her sudden availability.

It had been two hours since she left, and Sick Bay was as quiet as a graveyard, with only Commander Data's heart rate monitor beeping in its rhythmic intervals. She made her way into Dr. Crusher's lab and mixed a new batch for the hypo sprays, disinfected recently used equipment and wiped down work surfaces.

She was stripping the sheets off of a gurney when she heard a faint moan from the adjacent bed. She paused, listening. Nothing. She began to pull at the rest of the sheets, and the moaning sound returned, louder than before. And there was only one patient here who could have made that sound. She left the sheets in a pile at the base of a gurney and rushed to Data's side. His head had moved so his cheek rest against the pillow, and his fists were tightly gripping the thin blanket that covered him.

She made a quick scan of his brain stem with the medical tricorder. The nerves were connecting, and quickly; likely in response to the elevated glucose and concentrated micronutrient blend Doctor Crusher had been feeding him to boost his energy levels. Her fingers hovered over her comm badge, but never hailed her. What would be the point of interrupting her brief moment of well-deserved self indulgence with the Captain, if she already admitted she couldn't do anything to help him?

"Hmm." She thought, then moved the tricorder ever-so-slightly, and began scanning again.

.

.

.

Something changed in Data's environment. A tiny little glowing thing had appeared amidst the sea of black that was his world, small like a spark and multicolored. It zipped from nowhere into the corner of the room with such speed that he wondered if he had actually seen it and not malfunctioned somehow.

Another zipped by, moving almost erratically but still in the same general location as the other. It disappeared too, but not before it came into contact with one of the dark entities, and it disintegrated the shadowy thing on impact. And then there was another, and then another.

Before long, there was a slow but steady stream of sparks that preceded after each other, following an invisible highway through his gloomy environment, spreading light where they traveled by destroying the darkness. He stared in wonder, beginning to forget the overwhelming sensation that was gripping his body.

What were these magnificent things? Were they life forms? Were they self-aware? How he wished he had a tricorder - they were worth study!

More and more were cropping up, and he noticed absently that the sensation in his body was slowly beginning to diminish as the sparks destroyed the darkness around him. "Are you alive?" He asked, trying to track with his eyes their movements. They were incredibly fast! He was having trouble keeping track of them, and considered the possible ramifications if he attempted to catch one in his hands.

His Dream State was growing in size, and the distance between himself and the dark entities were also increasing. It was a very slow and gradual process, but it was progress. And he was mesmerized by the ethereal sparks that raced past him. He supposed he could hazard calling them _beautiful_ in comparison to what he had to deal with earlier, and he had an insatiable desire to catch one.

He approached the little stream of light and tried to grab one, and missed. He tried again. Missed! Again. A-ha! He opened his hands, and it was gone. Intriguing; is this what Molly 'felt' when she chased butterflies in the Holodeck?

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Nurse Ogawa resisted a squeal in delight at the tricorder's readings. "You have opioid receptors, Commander!" She announced, as if he could hear her. She decided then that she wouldn't contact Beverly yet. The Doctor could continue to enjoy her time with the Captain in the Holodeck, while she took care of things here, and deliver good news upon her return: he had endorphins, but in very short supply. He must have developed them recently since they weren't there a few hours ago. Still, his jaw was clenched tightly shut and fists tightly balled. He had his motor functions back, which meant his body was reconnected to his positronic brain and the human brain surrounding it.

"Well, where there are receptors," She concluded, grabbing a hypo spray and attaching its cartridge. "There is relief." She was about to press it against his neck when she realized it probably wouldn't work with his physiology yet.

She swore and set the hypo spray down. She would have to feed it through his blood supply manually. She had only ever read about the method, but didn't have any experience doing it. Still, she wasn't about to let him suffer, not if she had anything to say about it. She made her way to Doctor Crusher's lab and returned minutes later with an injectible painkiller.

"Let's see if this helps you out a little." Nurse Ogawa commented and depressed the plunger, administering the painkiller slowly. When the dosage was complete, she grabbed her tricorder and monitored his vitals, then frowned at the sudden realization of her error. A small rush of anxiety snaked through her. She covered her mouth with her hands. _Oh, Shit._

She miscalculated the dose.

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.

Movement caught Data's eye, and he turned to face this new spectacle with equal wonder. There was a woman in his dream, bathed in that same multi-colored light, faceless and without any detail. She was too bright for him to see any of her features to determine what species she was - she was merely humanoid. Her radiance was almost all he could see, and she was dancing across his vision, splashed with vivid colors of the visible light spectrum. The visage of Ten-Forward slipped away without him taking notice.

The dancer moved with grace and perfect balance as she passed him. Data reached out to take her hand, but she flowed through his fingers like water. He followed after her, studying her movements carefully in an attempt to map the steps. He noticed a pattern, and was reminded of his dance lesson with Dr. Crushe_r._

He imitated her movements perfectly, moving his feet to her rhythm, in perfect choreography. He observed that the dance seemed to be an unusual blend of a waltz and an Irish jig, and as he danced, he became aware of a new sensation; it felt like he was being pleasantly electrified.

_Peculiar. What is the source of this humming through my body?_ It felt strange, almost soft and fuzzy like Spot's fur. And there was a noticeable sense of peace and warmth surrounding him. Could he dare to describe it as 'happiness'? He knew he wasn't programmed to feel emotions, and yet... happiness seemed to fit well with his current state of mind. He felt... _wonderful._

Data noticed belatedly that the hideous vibrations of the dark entities had all but faded and not a single one remained. As a result, his state of happiness morphed, and now he felt what he assumed was Euphoria.

How was this possible? He was aware that feeling emotions strongly when absence was norm could be a sign of complete systems failure; Lal had sensed great fear before she died. The logical conclusion was that he was experiencing collapse. Perhaps he should be grateful he was experiencing what humans referred to as a _positive_ emotion, instead of fear.

There were several thousand reports throughout history of humans recalling the afterlife during near-death experiences, most of which were the feelings of peace and euphoria, harmonic singing and bright light. His environment met all these criteria. So he surmised that he must have died, and he was in heaven.

Yes, that had to be it; and _This_ W_as_ _Heaven!_ The vibrant colors, the light, the music, the dancing, the overwhelming feeling of peace. The entire universe was singing joyfully, and he realized suddenly that he was singing, too.

_What a wonderful world._

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"I see skies of blue," He carried his voice, but still lay inert. Nurse Ogawa's eyes widened at the sudden display of life, and was about to call Doctor Crusher when she heard the Sick Bay doors slide open with a hiss, and heard the recognizable pattern of her superior's footsteps.

"Thank you so much for watching Sick Bay! I had such a great time, I-" She stopped in her tracks, seeing Alyssa's shocked expression. Her happy feelings faded in an instant. "What is it?"

Fearing the worst, she rushed to her patient's bedside. _What, was he planning to die when I eventually took a break? That stubborn-!_ She gave him a quick one-over. Odd, he didn't look any different. The tricorder readings showed his vitals looked normal. So then what made Alyssa look so worried?

"-And clouds of white," Data interrupted her train of thought with a marked drugged drawl.

"He's singing." She stated the obvious, perplexed.

"I saw he developed opioid receptors, so I replicated some painkiller for him." Ogawa tried to explain hurriedly, "But I miscalculated his dose." She wasn't exactly afraid for the welfare of the patient; she understood that modern medicine was safer than in days past, so a single overdose would, at most, send him into a state of pure bliss. Without a constant over exposure there was no immediate risk to his health. But the level of drug would be evident to any tricorder, and she thought it was better to admit now, than to let Beverly discover it on her own.

"Just how much did you give him?" There was no need to ask - she could see the emptied cartridge plainly. She grabbed it and spun it in her fingers. "I suppose it could have been worse." Crusher said just as he continued with the lyrics of the song, oblivious to the world surrounding him or that he was failing to meet the notes perfectly. _He had good base,_ she thought abstractly. "Alyssa, you will always verify with me before administering painkillers of this caliber, do you understand?"

"My apologies, doctor Crusher."_ I was just trying to help,_ she wanted to add, but didn't.

Beverly looked back down at her patient. "At least he doesn't seem to mind it." She observed so matter-of-factly that it made Ogawa giggle despite herself.

"Yes, he does seem to be enjoying himself."

Eyes still closed, his voice carried from his beautiful dream world that he never, ever wanted to leave.

"What a wonderful world..."

.

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.


	16. Chapter 16: Haven's Dawn

**Chapter 16:**  
**Haven's Dawn**

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It was night time, and Picard should have been in bed. But he couldn't sleep; his mind was too preoccupied with Steward Rayal's execution in the morning. Commander Riker and Worf still had yet to return, and Picard was concerned for them. Would they witness an exchange? Had they encountered trouble? He knew they were perfectly capable of navigating dangerous situations. They were good, competent officers and smart men; they could take care of themselves.

He was confident in their skills as Starfleet Officers. Still, he crawled out of bed, reserving himself for a sleepless night.

He needed a distraction, and he had an officer to visit in Sick Bay. He viewed his bookcase in the dim light, reading the vertical titles of each book. Which would it be? Shakespeare? Dostoyevsky? One caught his eye, humble and unassuming in design in the lower right corner.

"Oh, yes." He muttered, lovingly sliding his index along the spine of a well-worn collection of poems and tipped it out of its encasement.

Tonight was a good night for Robert Browning, and he was willing to bet Data was unfamiliar with his works. He placed it on his night stand and threw a robe over his dark blue pajamas, then tucked the book underneath his elbow and left his quarters.

He was planning to read it at Ten Forward's next Poetry Reading event after several of his crew voiced their desire for him to participate. He had reluctantly agreed to one reading, and settled on the mid-19th century English poet. As he patiently waited for the turbolift to descend to Sick Bay, he thumbed through the book's pages. Which poem should he read? His eyes on Paracelsus, and scanning the content, felt satisfied he had found the perfect one.

Sick Bay was quiet as he suspected it to be this time of night. Doctor Crusher would be sleeping by now, as would Nurse Ogawa. The privacy made him feel at ease as he dragged a chair next to Commander Data's bedside.

"Well, Data, Doctor Crusher notified me that you've regained some of your senses." He explained, not expecting a reply from the heavily sedated patient. As he understood it, Data was still blind, but electrical activity in his positronic brain indicated he could hear again, as the medical instruments would light up to his mechanical brain's delayed response to auditory stimulation.

The only way Beverly could explain this reaction was that Data heard what took place and routed the stimulation directly to his memory files, where Data could then review them at delay. Sure enough, Picard could see the overhead screen zoom in on the diagram of the patient's head, that unspecified outline of a basic human skull colored in light blue, and pinpointed the areas of increased activity. He looked down to his book and opened it, relieving his finger of its makeshift-bookmark duty.

"I have a poem here I thought you'd like by Robert Browning Jr., 'Paracelsus.'" He said, then waited, watching the monitor. Two seconds later, the screen lit up like a christmas tree, much more than before. So he hadn't read it before - good!

He supposed he was robbing him of the excitement of new discovery from the poetry reading, but didn't think Commander Data would mind, given the circumstances. It was worth it, in any case. Besides, it was good practice for the main event.

Picard cleared his throat, and in his steadiest voice, began.

"Come close to me, dear friends; still closer; thus! Close to the heart which, though long time roll by, ere it again beat quicker, pressed to yours. As now it beats — perchance a long, long time — At least henceforth your memories shall make quiet and fragrant as befits their home. Nor shall my memory want a home in yours — alas, that it requires too well such free forgiving love as shall embalm it there. For if you would remember me aright, As I was born to be, you must forget All fitful strange and moody waywardness which e'er confused my better spirit, to dwell only on moments such as these," He paused, looking down at him with a faint smile. "dear friends."

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The night passed uneventfully and still with no word of Commander Riker or Worf. On the Bridge, Picard sat in the captain's chair in silent pensiveness. Steward Rayal was to be executed today by Haven's lamp-light, which was mere hours away. He fought and debated with himself, wondering if his interpretation of the Prime Directive was right. It was like playing chess with himself, he found; but each angle and point he made pointed to the fact that he should not interfere with Rayal's execution without solid, undeniable proof that Haven would benefit from Starfleet's interference. Geordi was another matter; he would be relinquished one way or the other.

The panicked voice of an ensign derailed his train of thought. "Captain! There is a ship decloaking off the starboard side!"

"On screen!"

The screen shifted from Haven Station to a sea of black dotted with stars. The scenery began to ripple in the middle, slowly revealing a circular, tan ship with purple lights.

"That's a Ferengi ship." Picard studied curiously. "What on earth is that doing with a cloaking device?"

"Sir, it's hailing us."

"Open a channel, Ensign."

With a few strokes of the Ensign's fingers, the screen updated to reveal not the large-eared, snaggle-toothed visage characteristic of a Ferengi, but the braided forehead and ridged nose of a Klingon.

"Worf?" Picard said in surprise. He understood that Worf and Commander Riker had left in two shuttles. What were they doing on a Ferengi Vessel? With a cloaking device, no less?

"Captain." Worf announced stiffly, before looking over his shoulder dangerously at three Ferengi behind him. Captain Picard could see a phaser was in Riker's hand further away, pointed toward the three cowering smugglers who never bothered to take their eyes off his Number One. One had a bloody nose, the other a nasty cut on his lobed forehead, evidence of a fight.

"You should know we have... 'garnered' a confession from all Ferengi, implicating Batto was behind the Illegal Spice Trade." Picard resisted the almost instinctual urge to ask precisely _how_ he had managed to extract confessions. Worf was intimidating without question, but he wasn't a torturer.

"Good work, the both of you. Dock the ship, and we'll forward their confession and prints to Starfleet Command." With the confessions in hand, there would be no problem in forcibly removing both Geordi and Rayal before they were to be executed.

"Captain, I must tell you. We interrupted the exchange, and a freighter fled at warp from the scene. They will likely warn Batto of our involvement. Geordi's life may be in immediate danger."

"Noted. Get back to the Enterprise, and we'll discuss the next course of action in the briefing room. Lieutenant Sorrel, you have the bridge." He barked as the turbo-lift doors closed around him. He tapped his comm badge. "Captain to Security. Have a team ready to deliver Ferengi prisoners to the brig from Docking Bay Two."

As he made his way to the Docking Bay, he could hear the familiar voice of Damon Brom, nagging at his First Officer.

"Surely we can make an equally profitable agreement for our release, Hoo-mon Riker?"

"That's 'Commander' Riker, and we're not in the mood to negotiate!" Came his curt reply. He stopped in front of Picard, letting his guard down as four Security officers helped Worf escort the Ferengi to the brig, with the captain following behind them, listening to the petty exchange. Desperate pleas from now powerless men.

"Such hostility after we signed the confession for _free!_" The Damon spat, being the first led into the brig.

"Prints always come with surcharge; it is our right as Ferengi!" Another shouted, following.

"As I understand it, your rights to profit were revoked after the Ferengi Alliance put a bounty on your heads." Riker quipped and turned to Picard. "We discovered a bounty bulletin in the Damon's quarters. They're wanted for Tax Evasion." He explained as the four large-lobed launderers lowered their heads in acceptance of their imprisoned futures.

"Captain, requesting permission to beam aboard Security Headquarters."

Picard looked at Worf critically. His shoulders shook ever so slightly, and to any average man he would appear to be standing perfectly still. But to Captain Picard, Worf's state of excitement was obvious: he was still 'chomping a the bit' to spend his adrenaline, his need to fight threatening to override the basic facets of civility, like patience.

"One battle wasn't enough I take it, Lieutenant Worf?" He asked with raised brows.

Worf half smiled, half glared. "I would hardly call four Ferengi a 'battle,' Captain." Worf didn't need to hear the captain's approval of the idea; he could see it in his eyes. Worf shifted his gaze to Tasha Yar, who watched the events unfold in front of her. She sat on her bed with her wrists draped over her knees, relaxed and not looking the least bit dejected with her punishment. "If I may make a suggestion. Lieutenant Yar is familiar with Security Headquarters and would be an asset in releasing Geordi from Haven's custody."

"Yes, I imagine she would." He grumbled. She had spent a little over a day in the brig, and he had planned for her to stay the full three; but circumstances as they were; he would have to adapt. Half of him was thankful for the excuse to release her early: her punishment was only formality. Inside, he was beaming with pride. A satisfied smile played at the corners of her mouth as he motioned the security officer to release the shields to her cell.

_._

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The guard outside of Geordi's cell was watching the live footage of Steward Rayal's public execution. He watched as the Steward stood defiantly in front of the Shock Sticks that would deliver a fatal blow, while Head Security Batto read the charges brought against him. Someone in the crowd had thrown an object that struck th Steward's temple that made him collapse. He landed hard on one knee, blood quickly beginning to drop down the side of his face. A guard grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back to his feet, and the reading of the charges continued after Batto delivered a threat to the crowd to remain calm.

_That's going to be me in another day or so._ Geordi thought to himself, then banished the notion from his head. No, Picard would intervene. Of that there was no doubt. It was the steward who would die, not him.

He watched from the cell, observing the Steward critically. Odd, for some reason he didn't strike him as the man guilty for these crimes. He looked like someone's grandfather who indulged in too many sweets eaten with grandchildren; much like his own grandfather. But, he supposed, appearances could be misleading.

He held his breath; the two Security Officers with their Shock Sticks prepared to deliver their execution lunge. _Here it comes._ He thought grimly, not sure he could watch, but unwilling to turn away still. The officers lunged for the Steward as the crowd cheered, just as a yellow blur disrupted the methodical movement.

Geordi made a double take. _Tasha?!_ His mouth fell open. She turned around before the Security officers could recover fully from being knocked down like an unsuspecting pair of dominoes, and delivered a kick across one's face with the heel of her foot, and a bash against the other's nose with the heel of her hand. Batto jumped off the stage, and Worf followed immediately after, fast as lightning. They grappled on the ground while the crowd threw assorted objects at Worf and Tasha.

The security officer in the detainment center looked distressed; he was being called away from his station to help outside. He kicked his feet off his desk and bolted out the door, leaving Geordi and another prisoner alone to watch the events unfold on the screen.

He watched as Tasha ripped off her comm badge and attached it to the Steward. She dodged an object and grabbed a Shock Stick. She activated it, then threw it like a spear and it flew off-screen, leaving Geordi confused. Why weren't they using their phasers? Were the shields somehow preventing their use?

There was an explosion. The power went out and darkness descended, taking the shields to the detainment center with it.

Geordi was free.

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"O'Brien! I have apprehended Batto! Two to beam directly outside the Brig!" Worf shouted and ignored the loud crack of an object bouncing off his skull, and a blunt object beating repeatedly against his back as the crowd grew braver. The pain was there, red and hot, fuelling his anger that threatened to make him lose focus. He grit his teeth and growled, focusing the rage into his arms to keep Batto still, who screamed orders underneath him, face red in outrage and complete denial of reality.

"I can't beam you up, there are too many people!" O'brien answered back. "You'll need to distance yourself from the others first."

There was no way he could do that, with Batto pinned and the locals beating him in a huddle. He could barely think straight; surrounded as he was, and all he could think of was how easily he could cleave their skulls by bashing his own against them, how easy he could snap their delicate bones... He wanted very badly to crush the very life out of the man pinned beneath him, squeeze him until he breathed his very last breath, and shout to the heavens that he had claimed the ultimate dominance over his prey.

I_t is strength to hold back._ He repeated the mantra over and over, fighting his overpowering instinct to deliver fatal blows to everyone nearby. How easy it would be... _It is strength to hold back._

"Stop it!" He could hear Tasha shout behind him at the crowd. The beatings across his back ceased. Somehow, he knew she had one of those disruptors in her hands. The crowd would not have ceased unless they felt threatened.

"Look at yourselves! You're attacking the very people who are trying to save you! Batto is behind the smuggling, behind the crime! We have proof! You don't have to suffer any more, but you have to stop this!" The crowd backed away slowly, and he heard murmurs from the crowd. They were skeptical, cynical and distrusting, but they were backing up, offering O'Brien the distance he needed to beam them up.

"No one has to suffer any more." She said as the three were beamed off Haven Station.

_._

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_._

He was free, but he wasn't safe. As Geordi left the cell, he watched a swarm of Officers exit the building. One took notice of him and shouted out alarm. Geordi rounded the corner quickly and made his way down the long, slightly curved corridor that reminded him of the Enterprise. He heard a disruptor fire, and his shoulder felt like it popped. He wasn't even aware he was falling until he collided with the floor, and an impossible heat radiated from his wound. He was vaguely aware he was screaming from pain.

His consciousness was hit and miss afterwards; at times he was almost lucid, and other times he was out; The only way he knew he was continually losing consciousness and regaining it was the passage of time and his actions of the moment. One second he was screaming, the next he was being pulled to his feet. The next, something was in his hands and he was using it to knock the daylights out of an officer. It was the butt of a disruptor rifle, he thought.

_They must be coated in some impedance compound to allow them to work with these special shields in place._ His Engineer mind reasoned in his dazed-from-pain state. He blacked out again, then was vaguely aware he was firing the weapon at a specialized shield generator. _Yes, this seemed to be the case._

He felt the sensation of being energized, and watched as an officer fell through his body in a failed attempt to tackle him.

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_._

Picard greeted both Rayal and Geordi in the sick bay, where Nurse Ogawa was tending to Rayal, who looked to be in good health except for the sudden weight loss from stress; He looked to be at least 5 kilos lighter. Geordi was worse for wear; a disruptor had caught him in the shoulder, but weak as the weapon was, it only managed localized damage that left him mostly conscious and mobile. He had recovered from his fainting spells after Dr. Crusher pressed a hypo-spray to his neck, alleviating most of the pain.

"I owe you my life!" Rayal said among a shower of thanks, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "But I must go back. I will not flee Haven!" The tears fell freely now, making his cheek slick with moisture. The amount of stress he had gone through was evident, and Picard made a point to offer Deanna's services.

"We have Batto in custody, and four Ferengi who have confessed to smuggling Spice from the Seren Sector."

"Confessions?" He almost didn't believe it.

"And an entire ship full of contraband."

Rayal's eyes closed, and his countenance changed. He looked lighter, and he breathed easier, as if he were a shapeshifter changing form. His eyes opened again, then lurched forward, grabbing Picard's hands and shook them happily.

"Then as Steward, I henceforth extend access of Haven Station, unhindered, to Starfleet, and may it enjoy our strategic position within the quadrant, with my blessing."

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_._

"Nice fighting back there," Tasha said, watching Worf limp down the halls of Enterprise towards the Bridge. "Nice gimp, too. Sure you don't want to go to Sick Bay?" She teased, anticipating his reaction.

"Sick Bay is not for warriors unless they are dying." Worf said with utmost certainty, and heard Tasha chuckle beside him. Was that a stiffness in one of her legs? He noticed she was favoring it, and hid a proud smile. She caught his study of her leg. She laughed.

"Like the good old days."

Both Worf and Tasha had always been careful not to display their injuries in front of their superior officers; their mutual dislike of Sick Bay made them mask their discomfort, and only let the masks slide off in each others' presence, where they could display their battle marks with masculine gusto. For Worf, it was his culture that drove the habit. For Tasha, it was pride.

"It was an honor to fight along side you again." He proclaimed.

"Likewise, Worf." The turbolift stopped its ascent, reaching the bridge. "Ready?" She asked.

They both inhaled, straightened themselves, and very carefully, walked gracefully to their stations.

_._

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_._

Geordi winced as Dr. Crusher removed his jacket and shirt. "I gotta say I am so happy to be home!" He said honestly, despite the pain in his shoulder.

Alyssa took his disruptor-burned and blood-stained clothing by gathering them into her arms. She left to stuff them down the recycler.

"Bring me a burn kit when you get back." Dr. Crusher told her as she palpated the perimeter of Geordi's wound. "You're lucky that disruptor was weak, it could have killed you otherwise." She observed, and he hissed as her professional fingers got too close to his wound for his comfort.

"It doesn't hurt there. It just spooked me." Geordi admitted.

"But there is damage to your muscle fibers. It'll hurt again later." She said more to herself than to him, and injected a nutritive foaming adhesive into it.

"It's not infected, but I'm going to run a UV over it anyway, just to be safe."

The bright light blue glow of the medical device gave him an excuse to look away, sharply over his shoulder and at his friend one bed over. What was he doing here?

"Why isn't he in engineering? OW!" His head whipped back towards the doctor.

"Keep still and it won't hurt as much. I promise he'll still be here in the next few minutes." Geordi reluctantly settled back on the gurney. He supposed she was right about that - Data hadn't moved an inch, and Tasha had warned him he was offline. But that didn't explain why he was relocated.

"I guess Chief Argyle and Bel Cito didn't know what they were looking at."

"That is an understatment." Crusher took the burn kit from Alyssa and removed a cartridge, loading it into the hypo spray. She felt for a vein in his neck, found one, and pressed it against Geordi's neck. It administered its exact dose with a hiss. "This is going to help you rebuild the damage in your muscle. You might feel a little jittery for a couple days."

She then grabbed a dermal regenerator and went to work.

"Once I'm patched up here, I'd like to get him back to engineering."

"Absolutely not."

"But-"

"Geordi, he needs a _doctor._ He is my patient and you will leave him here, and that's an order."

He humphed quietly. His upset over Data's relocation wasn't from the violation of his strong sense of organization; that broken machinery goes to Engineering, but from the fact that he felt Data should be cared by the most qualified personnel. Data may be a machine, but he was also a person, and like any one whose health was compromised, he deserved a competent physician. Beverly Crusher was a skilled doctor, but did she know how to use a harmonic infuser and know when and when not to use one, or detect a poly synchronic depolarization and know how to stop it?

"All right, good as new." She said and backed away from him, allowing Geordi room to remove himself from the bed. "I want you to go easy on that shoulder. No lifting, and you are not to report to work for the next 48 hours."

"Did the Auto Writer help you at all, doc?"

She looked almost startled at the sudden change of topic. "It gave me some ideas to better treat him, and it answered a lot of questions I had."

"But no cure?"

She shook her head, cascading red waves bouncing with her head movement. Geordi noticed passively there was a dragonfly barette in it, and it sparkled when the light hit it just right. "Maybe if Dr. Soong was still alive, we could repair the damage with new circuitry. But Data is beyond repair in the traditional sense." She was aware the Commander was fully capable of replicating new parts for himself given he had the right tools. And he did so in his lab on more than one occasion, but now his repairs would require the removal of some very delicate, new features that she was willing to bet he wouldn't wish to part with.

Even so, she had already made peace with the idea that he might _want_ to remove them; these changes weren't a product of his own choosing, and that had a way of tarnishing any appeal it may have. if so, she resigned herself to helping with the procedure if that ended up being the case. But all of this was merely speculation until he was capable of voicing his own opinion on the matter. And with the exception of his single episode of breaking into song, his vocalization was null.

She watched as Geordi slowly walked over to his best friend's bed, being careful to not upset the odd assortment of get-well knickknacks that had slowly accumulated at the head of his bed along the floor.

"Oh, Data." Geordi whispered. He could see his polymer skin was wrinkled and bubbled, as if it was being dissolved from the inside layers, out. Half his hair had fallen out in clumps, leaving white bubbly patches of polymer; stark contrast against the dark brown of synthetic hair. "Can you hear me, buddy?"

"He's sedated for now, but yes he can hear you." She told him, and Geordi jerked at the use of the word _sedated_, probably preferring the more accurate term 'offline,' because he didn't know any better. But he didn't try to correct her, he just stared down, shoulders slumped and lower lip stubbornly set firm to avoid it quivering. Beverly hesitated to deliver such bad news now, freshly broken from jail and injured as he had been. He needed rest and maybe counseling, but she knew nothing would tear Geordi from his friend now that he had seen the extent of the damage EVE wrought.

She caught sight of Captain Picard entering Sick Bay, and seeing him, stoic in his stiff-backed approach, she instantly felt comforted, as if he was a source with which she could draw strength. He stopped short of the three, watching their interactions from a distance in patient wait.

"How bad is it?" Geordi asked carefully.

"EVE dissolved his neural stem, all his sensory systems, major motor functions, and fluidic circulatory system."

She watched Geordi punch the bed with his fist and bite his lower lip. "Damn you, Batto! I wasn't here!" He shouted. "I should have been here." He calmed, his voice lowering and steadying. "Did you find the nanoes?"

"I did." She was about to say she found them in hijacked red blood cells, but she didn't have time between her initial answer and his next question.

"Can we shut them off?"

"No."

"What's the dissolution rate?"

She understood the veiled question for what it really meant. "He's not going to die." She answered plainly and clearly. That caught Geordi's attention, and a tremor ran down his throat.

"How can you be sure?"

"Follow me." She led him into her office and pulled out a chair for him. He sat down slowly and swallowed an unexpected groan. She had warned him he would feel it later, but he didn't think he would be feeling it this soon. He was aware of a dull pulse in his shoulder, a radiating heat from its center. Maybe he shouldn't have punched that bed, but he understood hindsight was 20/20.

"I located two types of nanoes working together. The Type I Nano, that's EVE, dissolves a function. Then the Type II nano, which Tana called DAWN, takes over and rebuilds the system with its organic equivalent."

"Organic?" Geordi repeated in disbelief. "But... _Organic_? Why? ..._How_?"

"I'll let the Auto Writer explain the why. As for the how," Beverly unconsciously removed her barette and placed it on her desk. "The DAWN nanoes were programmed to locate any DNA within its host, and build stem cells from it."

"But Data's an android. He doesn't have DNA!"

"I know." She grabbed her electric stylus and spun it in her fingers. "However, Data wasn't manufactured in a sterile environment."

Geordi's eyes narrowed underneath his visor. "I'm... not following you, doc."

"He was hand-crafted by two people. That means there were microscopic biological parts left behind within him after his creation. Skin? Blood from a pricked finger? Whatever it was, it had been preserved deep within his circuitry until the Nanoes picked them up."

And from there spurred life at the cost of death, in a bizarre play of incongruity that somehow managed to result in balance. From conflict, came conformity.

"Doctor Soong?"

Beverly nodded. "It could have gone differently, I suppose; He could have ended up a clone of you." Dr. Crusher teased. How often had the Chief engineer helped repair Data? Often enough to leave small parts of himself within his body, she imagined. But then again, Geordi never delved into _every aspect_ of him. Perhaps this was why?

"Wow. To think those nanoes could have picked up parts of me instead of him." Geordi was temporarily entertained by the notion of Data being his twin. If there was one person he would love to make a member of his family, it would have been him. Of course, Maddox could have also had the honor of being Data's organ donor. Geordi resisted a shudder at the thought. "So Data is turning into a clone of Dr. Soong." Geordi shook his head. "That is incredible."

"Well that's the other thing I wanted to mention. He isn't a perfect clone of Soong. He is a 78/22 ratio blend of both parents. You recall that Dr. Soong didn't create Data entirely alone. If you remember, his then-wife Juliana admitted to assisting Noonian. And, DNA breaks down over time. I'm assuming that faced with an incomplete Soong sample, DAWN mixed what was missing with Juliana's to complete the code, then began to replicate. So in effect, Data is very much a _son _of Dr. Noonian and Juliana Soong. Data's DNA is unique and stable."

"Stable." He repeated, then winced.

"Shoulder hurt?" She asked, not waiting for an answer.

"Yeah." He let her administer another hypo spray. He felt almost instant relief, and something else. He rubbed his face tiredly. "Uhhh," He said with a downwards inflection. "What else was in that?"

"A sedative."

He gave her an almost scandalized look. "I'm not tired!" _Well, not til now!_

"You," She said accusingly, "Need to rest." She knew he wouldn't leave Sick Bay or sleep, not until he knew of every detail of Data's state, and being injured himself, Dr. Crusher would have none of it. She helped him out of the chair, his body suddenly feeling fifty pounds heavier. "You can sleep here if you want to, in fact I'd recommend it, but you're not to touch him until you're well rested. Is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am." He obeyed, barely able to climb into the bed. It felt strange, sleeping in Sick Bay. He preferred his own bed. But he looked to his left and saw his friend, and supposed it wasn't so bad. "Thanks, doc." He said sleepily, and for once in about a week, slept peacefully.

_._

_._

_._


	17. Chapter 17: Chrysalis

**Chapter 17:**

**Chrysalis**

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It was the end of Tasha's shift, and she was thankful for it. Her leg ached, her stomach growled, and she felt filthy, having been unable to shower following the raid of Haven.

Once she entered her sparsely decorated quarters, she unzipped her uniform and headed immediately for the sonic shower, the dried sweat an obnoxiously pungent element she was eager to be rid of. She stood in the center of the enclosure and felt the grit dissipate from her body, the gentle vibrations of it soothing sore muscles at the same time. As though she were in a standing massage, she moved her neck to the left, then right, enjoying the relaxing effect it had on her body. She stayed there for at least an hour, the stress of the day bleeding from her, mind focusing on the past and future.

She thought about Haven and Rayal's restored future and Starfleet's place within it, Geordi's brush-in with death by a disruptor that just so happened to malfunction at just the right moment - What she understood as pure luck. She would have to bring him a get-well present since he was still in Sick Bay.

There was a new mission blossoming for the Enterprise crew; In repayment of apprehending the four Ferengi outlaws, the Ferengi Alliance was allowing a single opportunity to explore the outer boundaries of their territory for the exclusive purpose of scientific discovery, in lieu of paying the bounty they advertised. She understood it was a self-serving deal; Starfleet Command knew the Ferengi only wanted to cut costs by dangling the carrot of discovery in front of their collective faces - and it worked: Their territory straddled undiscovered country. She imagined the Ferengi would consider them a bunch of _suckers,_ but in the end Starfleet was getting what it wanted. What fool would turn up such a rare opportunity? Already, the science officers were alight with excitement. It was a welcome change to the recent gloom.

She left her enclosure and dressed in casual wear, then ran a comb through her short hair. She studied herself in the mirror critically. She spotted a discoloration along her jaw line; she recognized it was a bruise. When did she get that? It had to have happened on Haven.

Her door chimed. "Come in."

She unconsciously held her breath as her ex entered, head down but eyes intent. "Tasha, I thought we could talk?" He said just as her stomach growled loudly.

"Sure. But can we do it in Ten-Forward? I'm starving."

He followed her out of her quarters, and as they walked they made small-talk about their duties, difficulties and achievements. She was careful not to display her limp, and he failed to notice the stiffness in her body from small assorted injuries that were now making themselves present. A joke here or there made her laugh, heightening her mood that made it feel like the Good Old Days of their relationship, and she caught herself smiling as they interacted.

She saw that Guinan was manning Ten Forward's bar this evening, and in seeing Tasha, she flicked her finger in silent communication. _Your usual?_

Tasha and her eyes locked with friendly directness. _Do I ever ask for anything different?_

Guinan caught sight of Bel behind her, and raised a brow. _Are you sure?_

A crooked smile. _I can't help it._

Guinan slowly turned around to man the replicator. _Okay..._

Tasha sat at the least romantic spot in Ten-Forward, closest to the door, and Bel sat across from her. He was still wearing his yellow uniform, and she knew he was on break and had little time for whatever emotionally manipulative game he had in mind. That knowledge had a relaxing effect; it would keep their interaction minimal, and even though she expected he'd make her uncomfortable and probably try to blame her for their failed relationship, she held out on the hope that maybe they could patch up their differences with a bandage of civility and respect and stay parted on better terms.

"Tasha, I'm sorry I accused you." He said abruptly and folded his arms over his chest. She could see this was hard for him, since he only ever did that when he felt uncomfortable.

"Apology accepted. I know I wasn't being sensitive with your feelings. I'm sorry for that." She said in a detached manner, already distancing herself from him emotionally. It was a trick she picked up from a Vulcan professor at the Academy, who advertised its benefits during uncomfortable interactions with hostile people. She had jumped at the chance to learn the techniques, and was surprised to learn they were similar to her own defensive mechanism she learned while growing up on Turkana IV. But the Vulcan's methods expanded on her own, and since then she seemed to use that trick more often in her relationships than while in the field. It made her wonder if her troubled childhood was cause of her inability to distinguish a quality lover over a bad one.

He saw the distance in her eyes, and a part of him bristled. Was she going to shut off again? He hated that unfeeling, blank look he saw in her eyes.

Guinan interrupted her thoughts by delivering her meal in person, and removed the satin purple cloth that covered her food. "Be careful," She said subliminally and laid the fork on the table, "You might get burned."

"Laurelei and I broke up." He announced, eyes fixed on his hands as he clasped his hands together. "We weren't a good match. I thought you'd like to know."

"I'm sorry. You two seemed to make a good couple." She readied herself for a bite, then dropped her loaded fork quickly, hand covering her mouth. Her tongue was now numb from the high temperature. She shot an angry look to the El'Aurian who watched with amusement in her eyes across Ten-Forward. _Holy god, Guinan!_ She was many things, but not a liar. So she justified overheating her food just to warn her she might be burned by Bel?

"She did say it was hot." Bel commented, oblivious to the double entendre. "Tasha, I've been miserable without you. Every waking moment, I'm thinking about you." A tremor ran down his throat, and his eyes pleaded._ Please tell me it's the same for you?_

"I've... been concentrating on my work. I haven't had much time for anything else." She answered honestly. She was a passionate person; and when upset she would throw all her energy into whatever she did and gave it her all, and when faced with the inability to physically change something, she would resort to long-winded, energy-charged speeches that attracted respect from some, scorn from others. "I think I've been neglecting my career long enough."

"Can't you give me another chance?" He looked the way he sounded - heartbroken. And Tasha was suddenly beginning to feel emotionally drained all over again.

"Bel. I can't sacrifice myself anymore. Not... not for you." She said as gently as possible. Inside her head, she felt the spirit stir, clearly confused.

He nodded sadly, message received. He rose from the table. "I have to get back to engineering." He excused himself. "Goodbye, Tasha."

"Goodbye, Bel."

She stared at her meal, a tear threatening to fall as the Ten-Forward door slid shut, that hissing whoosh that acted like the final cleave in their relationship. Farther away, she felt the approving stare of Guinan, who nodded slowly at her, pride in her eyes. _Good for You._

She never had a mother, but Guinan's gentle guidance made her think that if she had one, she would have been just like her. It made Guinan's interaction all the more powerful, and that stare of blessed approval made the tear fall from her eye. She felt loved.

And finally, she had closure.

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Data realized he was awake when he no longer needed to constantly access his memory files to monitor his environment. He could react to it of his own free will. His world was still dark from his blindness, but he had the distinct feeling there was something in his eye, which was what woke him in the first place. And he very badly wanted it out. He rubbed his left with the heel of his hand in an attempt to dislodge whatever had come into contact with this bizarrely sensitive part of his body. Curious; he had never experienced such discomfort when something damaged his vision before.

There was a sensation of something giving way. It was an almost pleasant feeling, followed by immense relief. His hand was moist from the contact, and he realized suddenly he could see again through that eye. He looked down at his hand to inspect the offensive object.

He could see a thin layer of gold material resting in his palm, streaked with perfectly clear liquid. He tried to analyze its base components, but found he could not zoom or analyze its liquid or metallurgy. "Curious." He said out loud, recognizing it was the very same gold color of his eyes. He then scanned his environment with his ill-equipped eye, grateful to place the physical on what he was only able to hear for the last few days.

Sick Bay was almost exactly as he remembered it, orderly and neat, with the exception of new machinery directly behind him that he was attached to through a cuff on his right wrist. He saw tubes going in and out, the liquid inside moving in sync with the beeping of the machine behind him. One tube held a red liquid, the other, blue. Another tube glowed gently in the night; and he recognized it as his alternative power source. He also noticed that any attempt to flex his wrist was prevented.

On his other wrist was a peculiar bracelet, woven with thin leather. Closer inspection revealed they were decorated with what looked like claws from an animal, and he wondered how it got there. He looked down at his torso and felt a shudder in his body, his modesty program still active and finding his Sick Bay attire insufficient to satisfy its parameters. He would have to ask Dr. Crusher for more appropriate garments that would satiate his programming.

To his right, he saw Geordi slept in a bed beside him, his shoulder slightly discolored with the brand new flesh covering his disruptor wound. He had always found skin's reaction to light peculiar since his own didn't respond to the effects of daily light-level radiation. Data understood that Geordi now needed 'a tan' on his recently repaired wound.

He tried to sit up, but found he couldn't. He tried again, and very slowly, leaned forward. It wasn't with the usual stiff and quick movements he was used to. He leaned forward with a curve to his back, abs counterbalancing the weight, and there was a taughtness is his lower back that kept him upright in his bed. But now there was discomfort behind his knees, and he bent them underneath his body, ankles situated underneath his buttocks. Ahh- that was much more comfortable!

His positronic brain kicked in, figuring the pattern of electrical impulses needed to keep himself steady and sitting still. He had just perfected the movements of his torso, legs and hands, and also understood that even though his positronic brain was intact in its entirety, the neural pathways in his body had changed so completely that he could not apply his restored internal diagnostic to it.

"Curiouser and curiouser." He quoted. Clearly, his internal diagnostic had originally gone offline due to the dissolution of the neural pathways at the base of his poly alloy skull, not from degradation of his programming as originally thought.

But now there was a tingling feeling on the top of his head, and he instinctively reached up and quickly rubbed it with his fingertips to alleviate the sensation. Another curiosity! Was this the sensation humans called 'itchy'? That seemed to be the case, but his scratching it seemed to make it worse, since the tingling, burning sensation came back with a vengeance, and spread from the top of his head down to his shoulder. Along with the itching and burning, it felt moist, although his polymer skin was dry to the touch. He scratched at his head harder, then removed his hand to see it was full of synthetic hair.

And then the itch returned again, unbearable. _It appears that the sensors beneath my polymer layers are malfunctioning._ He thought, gently feeling his synthetic skin with his fingers, running them over his jaw and down to his clavicle bones. It felt warped, bubbled, wrinkled and damaged. _It is imperative I remove the defective unit to alleviate these sensations._ He grabbed hold of his polymer with his fingernails. _Maintenance is required._ He pulled.

He felt it slough off painlessly with his ministrations, the itchy, sticky feeling underneath easing immediately. There was another sensation now: the sensation of blessed air, caressing and cooling his exposed surface, as if his machinery was breathing the oxygen surrounding him.

He heard Sick Bay's doors open, and the guest stopped in its tracks.

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Tasha saw Data sitting upright in his bed, and she felt momentarily overcome with joy at the sight of her friend.

"You're awake!" she said happily, then resisted the urge to heave as she saw what he was doing - Data was ripping off his skin in the dim light.

"What are you doing?!" She whispered in an almost panicked state, dropping her get-well gift for Geordi - a stuffed lion with a red heart sewn onto its belly, to signify his bravery. She ran to the Android's bed, grabbing his forearm to prevent any further destruction of his outer layers. He looked at her quizzically, with that same characteristic twitch of his head.

"I am merely removing defective hardware." He explained simply, and through his good eye he saw Tasha's own eyes grow round in that dark environment, her mouth opening to make an 'o'. She didn't let go of his forearm, but stood stock-still.

"Are you all right, Tasha?"

Her mouth was still open, and she tilted her head very slowly to indicate that No, she wasn't all right. Her eyes scanned his face over and over.

"Tasha?" He inquired again, and she blinked suddenly, her temporary trance broken.

"You-" She started, then stopped. Good god, what was _wrong_ with him? "Data, You have..."

He waited patiently for her to answer, but she couldn't seem to form the words that matched her level of astonishment. "Come here!" She tugged at his arm, helping him off the bed quickly.

"But the power supply cord can not extend-" He stopped just short of severing it.

She turned off a monitor on the far wall of the Sick Bay so that its shiny surface acted as a reflection. Upon seeing it, Data froze just as she had.

Through the reflection he viewed that instead of the blinking lights that should mar his bare surface, it was still covered by a realistic, flesh-toned layer. It looked very much like skin.

"You have _skin_, Data. It looks so... real."

He watched as his hand reached up and tentatively touched his exposed forehead. Temperature, pressure. A slight tickle. The soft caress of his own fingers against supple flesh. His head cocked near a 20 degree angle and his mouth open ever so slightly, he wanted to make some verbal observation, but just like Tasha, he couldn't find any appropriate words besides "Intriguing."

"It's more than intriguing, it's _remarkable_."

It was as if his reflection was casting a fairytale spell on him, keeping him frozen in place. He was prevented from breaking eye contact with himself. How could he fail to notice this layer underneath his polymer? How did it come to be here? Whose doing was this? "I do not have sufficient information to explain this phenomenon."

"Your eyes are blue." She said with equal wonder as he had. She looked just above his left temple, noticing another color underneath that damaged titanium-white. She tried to resist the urge to touch it, knowing it may be a social _faux-pas_ to invade such personal space.

"You are correct. However, they are of a subdued hue." For some reason, he was reminded of his Android sister, who fancied the idea that she was his mother. She had the very same color, he noted.

There was an electric zap as Tasha touched his temple that made him step back suddenly, the spell broken by the unexpected contact. He looked away from the reflection and at her in puzzlement.

"I figured you wouldn't mind the help." Tasha explained as he leaned away from her warily, gold and blue eyes shifting as he watched her.

"I am perfectly capable of removing my own hardware." There was a subtle shift in his facial features, and he leaned back towards her. "But you are welcome to assist if you wish."

"I do."

A pause. Data started first, rubbing the right side of his face, and the white fell away.

Her fingers were at his temple again, gingerly tugging away another section of his damaged polymer. She ran her finger underneath the thin layer, encouraging it to separate from the new skin underneath. The nape of his neck tingled in response to the coolness of her fingers.

She couldn't deny that she was deeply curious to know what color it was under there. A large section peeled away, and she resisted the urge to laugh at the velvety texture underneath; real human hair. It was still brown, but not as dark as its synthetic counterpart.

They both worked together, removing his damaged coverings, and before long Tasha realized she was smiling from ear to ear. She wasn't sure why she felt so much joy in helping him shed his polymer like this - shouldn't this be disgusting? - And yet, it wasn't. She was filled with an almost child like delight._ Is this what a butterfly feels?_ She thought abstractly. _Or I suppose it's like unwrapping a present._ She thought.

They had managed to remove the majority of the skin over the upper half of his face, but the lower was still firmly attached, and once there was nothing left to easily remove, she noticed for the first time the close proximity of their bodies. He was close - very close, enough to feel the heat radiating from him. She felt his warm breath caress her neck as he watched her with those unfamiliar and calculating blue eyes, and she felt her skin ripple with goosebumps in response.

When did this become intimate? She understood no words had been shared during this time, and no touch besides the obvious. So how did he manage to get so close without her knowing? The faint glow that trailed across the Sick Bay relayed the answer. He was prevented by the power cord from moving any nearer, so he couldn't have instigated the close contact. The intimate proximity had to have been her own subconscious doing.

"Um," She said, backing away suddenly. "It looks like the rest isn't ready yet." She deflected, and he looked at the floor, the evidence of his chrysalis around him in strips.

"I am glad to have shared this experience with you." He stated simply and without emotion, but Tasha blushed anyway and fidgeted. He saw her discomfort and looked for a way to diffuse the awkward moment. "Thank you for your assistance." Blue eyes shifted to the floor behind her. "You brought a gift for Geordi, did you not?"

"Yes I did!" She spun around and went to grab it, thankful for the excuse to sever the intimacy.

She brought the stuffed lion to Geordi's bed, who snored gently under the effects of the doctor's medication. His high level of anxiety over his looming execution, fear of losing his friend, and unsettling interactions with other Haven criminals had robbed him of sleep while in Haven's cell. He had gone almost three days without sleep, and still he managed to escape and beat off an officer despite his injury. He would have gone another three days trying to repair Data. And Dr. Crusher had recognized he was exhausted and stubborn, and nothing short of a sedative would give him the rest his body so desperately needed.

Tasha placed the stuffed lion under his hand. "Geordi. You have the courage of a lion." She said gently to him. "Get well soon." She turned around and saw those same, still unfamiliar blue eyes studying their interaction. He was going to ask her if she was familiar with any of L. Frank Baum's other works; but she interrupted him.

"I should probably go now, it's late." She headed for the exit. "Good night, Data."

"Good night, Tasha." He said, still standing in the same place she had left him.

The Sick Bay doors slid shut, and Data looked down at the white shreds on the floor. He should probably clean that up; he learned that humans were uncomfortable with seeing damaged and rejected parts of himself, and reacted with the same revulsion that people did to organic remnants.

"I saw that." Geordi said quietly, repositioning the lion underneath his cheek, before drifting back into his blessed dream world.

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"Computer, play _The Ink Spots_." Tasha announced, and listened as the string instrument began to play the beginning of the song _I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire_. The high Tenor of the main vocalist had a relaxing effect on her. She collapsed on her chair and kicked up her feet, thankful that Picard had excused the rest of her brig sentence and allowed her back onto the bridge. She rubbed the back of her neck, replaying her day again in her mind, from the Brig to Haven, from the Bridge to the Briefing room, from Ten Forward to Sick Bay. It was an eventful day if nothing else.

_"Tasha. I have been meaning to inquire, but did not know how to pose the question delicately."_

"I find it's best to just ask." Tasha said bluntly, not stopping the massage of one shoulder. There was another thing she had to do in the morning, she thought to herself. Get this thing out of her.

_"You told me in the brig that sacrifice is needed for people you love, is this not correct?"_

"Yes?"

_"You love Bel, but you will not sacrifice for him. What is the reason behind this contradiction?"_

"I_ used_ to love Bel." Tasha corrected. "I don't anymore. I sacrificed a lot for him. He asked for too much and gave too little in return."

_"But isn't the premise of sacrifice, to give something of yourself without gain? For example; You have not sacrificed anything by placing your life in jeopardy through entering Haven Station, because the end result of your actions is the continued existence of your friends, to further enrich your own. This by definition is 'Trade.' It is a noble act, never the less it is not sacrifice."_

"I suppose that's one way to look at it. There is a great deal of 'trade' that goes on in relationships, as well as sacrifice. So you're right, I was trying to trade with Bel, but I wasn't receiving anything worthwhile in return. And in that same light, it was an act of Trade that I risked my career for Geordi and Data."

_"What were you expecting to receive that he failed to deliver?"_

She blinked. "I don't know. A bond, maybe?" The conversation was welling unwelcome memories within her, faint images of lonely nights spent in silence, the need to touch mentally, spiritually and physically, receiving only the latter but none of the former. "Companionship? Respect, friendship, to name a few." That sounded about right. "I didn't get those things, so it was always sacrifice on my part."

_"But what I don't understand is that you willingly placed yourself in danger and accepted incarceration for the trade of Geordi and f-" She paused. "-Commander Data's continued company. Why would you reject sharing experiences with one but not the others?"_

"Because they are my friends." Tasha explained, growing frustrated. Why wasn't she _getting_ it?

_"So Bel is no longer your friend, either?"_

"I don't know. I don't think so." She said honestly, ashamed. They had shared a life together for several years, regardless of how uncomfortable the last half of those years had been. But still, a part of her had wanted to remain his friend, but she couldn't bring herself to allow it. So did those years mean nothing? Were they a complete waste? Was this disregard of valuable years of her life self=destructive in nature? Did she even care if it was? "Is that unfeeling of me?" reminded of Bel's callous remarks to her character.

_"I do not perceive a lack of emotion to be a character flaw; On the contrary it is a state of being. I assumed incorrectly that romantic love would automatically revert to friendship. This is not the case. I understand now why you do not wish to trade with Bel any longer."_

Tasha felt surprisingly comforted; the spirit was unassuming in her observation. She wasn't being judged harshly for failing Bel in caring for him emotionally - this was new.

_"However... I question your sincerity with regards to trading with Geordi on an equal level."_

"What do you mean?"

_"I understand that you located the shuttle on Haven before locating the jail cells within Haven Security Headquarters, as it may have harbored an artifact from Tseres IV. I also observed that you attempted to reclaim the Auto Writer before locating your Chief Engineer to ensure his safety, because it was assumed that the it may have contained a cure. You also forgot your purpose of visiting Sick Bay was to wish him well, and you occupied your time elsewhere. It would seem that your primary focus was preserving your interactions with Commander Data more so than Geordi La Forge."_

"Lal, I would have have done all of those things regardless of the Commander Data's state!" Her words came out harsher than she meant it to, and she flinched at the sound.

_"You misunderstand. I am not questioning your loyalty towards your Chief Engineer or the legitimacy of your fondness for him. On the contrary, I am merely questioning the nature of the differential level of energy you expend while interacting with your friends."_ Lal said, preparing to summarize._ "What are your intentions toward Commander Data?"_

"_Intentions?_" She quoted. The question took her by surprise. "I think you're looking too deeply into this. And if you don't mind, I'd like to end this conversation. Now."

_"So, the reasoning behind your differential treatment is the _level_ of friendship?"_

"Yes." She half-lied confidently. "And frankly, it's none of your business." To be perfectly honest, she didn't entirely know. But she didn't care to hazard a conversation regarding those undefinable details, details she barely understood herself, with someone that was far to inquisitive and naive and had no business knowing in the first place.

_"Noted."_ Lal replied almost sadly, and fell silent, to Tasha's immense surprise. Over the course of her stay in the brig, she learned that this babble-prone spirit could not keep a conversation minimal. When she came across something she didn't fully understand, it would spur on dozens of questions that left Tasha exhausted and wondering how they strayed so far off topic.

She focused her attention on the music that played, and replayed the conversation over in her memory. What had to be an hour passed, and she grew aware of the late hour and sudden silence in her mind.

_She's not asking more questions,_ Tasha thought. _That's new!_ Just what made Lal ask that, anyway? Why would she care? She was glad she dropped the conversation so quickly; The curious relationship between her and Data was a topic that regularly frustrated her.

But now she couldn't get her mind off it.

There was mutual friendship there, that was certain. And camaraderie; they fought alongside each other often enough that there was a marked level of trust between them. But there was something else there, too; an undefined element she couldn't quite put her finger on. It wasn't love, and it wasn't lust. More like it was an instinctual awareness of _him_, something basic that had no language, that seemed to flip on whenever he was near.

Regardless; she told herself. Whether it was the same for him or not, that was not a stable ground to establish a relationship. Furthermore, Data was incapable of feeling anything for anyone. How could she enter a relationship knowing that she wouldn't be loved, after telling herself for so many years stuck on Turkana IV that she deserved it?

For the little girl she remembered, she could not - and would not - settle for less than what she always knew she deserved. It was that reason alone that she reserved herself to be Data's friend and nothing more; the very same reason why she told him it Didn't Happen. In truth, she felt ashamed at her callous words to him afterwards. But he was gentlemanly enough not to inquire further or demand an explanation; which she knew he was entitled, and for that she was grateful.

She had expected her First to be Gentle, Joyful and Loving. He was gentle, and yes there had seemed to be some measure of glee - intoxicated as he was - but loving, he was not.

_So, the reasoning behind your differential treatment is the __level_ of friendship. Lal had said.

_Yes._ She had replied.

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	18. Chapter 18: Ghost SHip

**Chapter 18:**

**Ghost Ship**

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"Ensign, set a course for Ferengi Space." Picard said cheerfully, the previous night still fresh in his memory. Steward Rayal had followed through with his vow to ally his Station with Starfleet, and in the presence of two Admirals from Starfleet Command, they signed a treaty and marked the day as the beginning of a new era - when Haven functioned as a legitimate Station with the protections of Starfleet. Moreover, Tasha had been awarded a Medal of Valor.

_"On behalf of Haven Station and its people, I award you our highest honor," Tasha bent forward, and Steward Rayal draped a medal across her neck - a medal only reserved for soldiers. "In recognition of your Bravery and Valor." She straightened, unable to erase the smile from her face. "May your name be immortalized in our Hall of Heroes!" _

_The crowd had exploded with cheer. Picard stood several feet away in formal dress, in line with Riker and two Admirals who oversaw the signing of the treaty, and clapped their hands in pride with the rest of the station. He remembered Steward Rayal's reaction to hearing Tasha's determination in clearing his name and made it perfectly clear that she had risked her career to do so. Picard had punished her by sentencing her to spend time in the brig - a woefully necessary act that she understood and accepted gracefully - but he had planned to reward her in his own way, and found the Steward was doing much the same._

"Course laid, captain." The ensign confirmed.

_"A new era Dawns for Haven Station! May the Celebration begin!" And from the Steward's Tower, Picard had watched people toss celebratory shimmering paper out the windows. Percussion instruments sounded off a cheerful tattoo, sending a vibrating hum throughout everyone's bodies with each drumbeat._

"Engage!"

_._

_._

_._

With the excitement of Haven and Starfleet's new alliance, Tasha had been so preoccupied with special tasks to even begin to follow through with her promise to remove Lal from her consciousness. It was a distraction that Lal appreciated. Since their last uncomfortable interaction, Lal remained quiet and in the background, offering Tasha the distance and privacy, despite her almost overwhelming desire to comment on how exciting the celebration was - she had never seen one before - and how she had never felt pride for another before, and how she considered Tasha to be a Friend, which made her voluntary silence difficult.

Lal hadn't intended to upset her when she asked her about the nature of her relationship with her father; it was an innocent question fueled by the harmless fancy that Tasha could be a sort of mother to her. She had been wrong on that count, she understood that, and there was a measure of bitterness in her thoughts since then. Not towards Tasha; but over the comparison that for every complex organic creature that lived, a mother had been involved in its creation, and the asexual reproduction of her past family unit reminded her all the more just how different she still was compared to the host that she wanted so badly to imitate.

Tasha was alive, and more than that, she lived her life feeling and interacting with those around her so naturally that she realized how disconnected her father really was. He was barely able to fit in himself, and there he was trying to teach her how to do it.

Before her death, she said she had been thankful for the life he had given her. She meant that, and she was still thankful for that gift. But being in Tasha was such an eye-opening experience that the thought of returning to her father was unacceptable.

So she remained in the background, quietly observing and admiring Tasha Yar with distance and respect, and had even mastered the art of _Diving._ It was a maneuver she learned while in her father and perfected in Yar.

She found she could ride anyone's neural pathways and hide literally anywhere she wished, be it hand, eyes, heart ... even something as mundane as an ankle. She also found she couldn't control anything, but the point of_ Diving_ was to disconnect herself from the experiences of her host, anyway. While submerged in some obscure body part like a Pancreas, she lacked all sensory input to know anything. At times she _Dived_ apropos of nothing at all, but mostly it was when she felt the need to rejuvenate exhausted electrical impulses - her version of sleeping.

She was sleeping now, bored from the mundane violence of Tasha and Worf's exercise in the holodeck, battling monsters with Bat'leths.

_._

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_._

"The Ferengi tried to sell the cyanobacteria they found on the gas giant as an aphrodisiac." Picard said casually, and Riker made a double-take.

"_Bacteria_ as an aphrodisiac?" He couldn't keep the disgust from decorating his words, but there was morbid curiosity there, too. "Did it work?"

Picard resisted a laugh. "They touted it as the next best thing since Beetle Snuff, but since it was essentially placebo effect and nothing more, the demand for it dropped quickly. Especially after its use caused an outbreak of sinus infections. Still, a kind of bacteria existing in a gas giant was worthy of study."

"How can bacteria develop in a gas planet is what I'd like to know."

"We're about to find out. O'Brien, what is the ETA for the system?"

"About fifteen minutes, sir." O'Brien answered just as a series of beeps distracted him. "Captain, sensors are picking up a ship off the port side." O'Brien said, reading the results as they slid across the panel. He swiveled in his Ops chair to look directly at Captain Picard. "It's a Breen ship."

"On screen." Picard squinted at the image of the dark ship as it drifted lazily across space. "It looks dead in the water."

"Affirmative, all their systems are offline."

"It could be a trap." Picard rumbled. "The Breen are known to lure many a Good Samaritan and take them captive using this very technique." Plenty of Bajoran and Starfleet officers disappeared this way, only to be found months later, in mines and slave labor camps. "Shields up! Counselor, are you sensing anything that could imply this is a set-up?"

"I'm not sensing any negative intentions from the other ship." She tilted her head as she spread her ability out, her pupils dilating in response to her focus elsewhere, and said a little sadly: "Honestly, I'm not sensing anything at all."

"There are no life signs on the Breen Vessel, captain." O'Brien confirmed.

"Commander Riker, have an away team prepare to board the ship, and have Geordi try to get the ship's systems back up. It's in Ferengi Territory, but could be claimed by Starfleet by Ferengi Law for a minor fee. Perhaps instead of purchasing their overpriced 'Perimeter Prospector's Package,' we can trade the ship as salvage for it." Indeed, the Ferengi had a whole slew of data referring to unusual readings along their borders, usually with prospector notes with regards to potential profits in its margins. Regardless of the intended purpose of the Prospector's Package, information was information, and it was a very useful commodity in such an unknown area. But the price was, dare Picard say, astronomical. But Ferengi weren't above bribery, and after discovering Starfleet had no intention of paying out the nose for such a luxurious item, he bet they would accept the salvage rather than nothing at all.

_._

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_._

The ship was foreboding in its eerie silence, and no lights flickered in that darkness. Riker's boot slipped from underneath him, and he grabbed onto the railing of the ship's cargo bay to keep himself from performing the painful splits. Slick black ice coated the floors. "Watch your step." He muttered. "The Breen sure like it cold." He commented through his thick suit, switching on the lights on either side of his glass faceplate.

"A little too cold for my taste." Geordi replied as he stepped over a frozen body.

"I wonder what killed them?" Deanna hovered a tricorder over one of their bodies, clumsily handling the tool through thick gloves. "There doesn't seem to be a sign of a battle."

"If I can get the to the central computer and activate it, I might be able to find out." Geordi said, shifting his torch over to a command panel of the ship. Everything was covered in a thick layer of frost, and cursed under his breath. "I couldn't find a deader ship in a scrap yard."

"All right. There doesn't seem to be much danger here, so let's split up. Geordi, you go to Engineering, I'll look things over in the command center, and Deanna, you will investigate the crew quarters." He tapped his comm badge. "Riker to Doctor Crusher."

"What can I do for you, commander?"

"I'd like you to suit up and meet us here on the Breen ship. Try to find a cause of death for this crew."

"On my way."

_._

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_._

Deanna passed the Cargo Bay, making chilly note of the cages that lined the walls large enough to store an adult humanoid, and passed Engineering where Geordi was distracting himself with assorted wires and breakers.

The Crew quarters were one level down, and she mentally made note that the ship was impossibly old. Perhaps its failure wasn't due to an anomaly or attack, but simple old age? There was no turbo-lift, and the doors to the crew quarters had to be slid open, and each crew member would have to descend a ladder to enter their rooms.

The first room looked like it belonged to a warrior; knives, weaponry and other masculine paraphernalia decorated the walls, but the room was sparse otherwise. Finding nothing of interest, she climbed the ladder to investigate the others.

_._

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_._

"This was definitely a slave trade ship." Riker said as he approached Geordi from behind. "A few caged slaves died with the Breen, huddled together. Looks like they may have frozen to death. Any luck here?"

"Not yet, commander. I located the environmental controls and they should be operational. I'm not seeing any evidence of damage or sabotage." Geordi clicked, shaking his head as he flipped switches. "This has to be one of the oldest ships I've ever boarded. Look at the circuitry. It's beautiful, really." He smiled. "There we go." The emergency lights slowly lifted, and a hissing sound heralded the return of oxygen.

"We should be able to breathe in about an hour, I modified the environmental control for humans instead of Breen."

"You did all that in seven minutes, Geordi?" Riker sounded more than impressed.

"It wasn't difficult. It's a simple ship, and the environmental control isn't even Breen, it's Vulcan."

"Vulcan?"

"Yes sir. This ship, old as it is, is a hodge-podge of different systems. They're all antiques, but due to that antiquity they work together better than newer age models would. And almost every circuit has a modifier on it to keep each part from shorting out another." He ran his eyes across the hull. "Amazing it worked as well as it did."

"I don't know about that. The crew is dead, after all."

_._

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_._

"Mr. Data, you have beautiful eyes." Dr. Crusher complimented, observing his progress critically. His heart had thumped to life earlier that morning, signaling a fully functioning vasculatory system. On top of that, Liver and Kidneys worked to remove toxins from his blood, furthering the end of his need for the blood purifier.

"Do I, doctor?"

"If you didn't, would I have said so?"

"They are not particularly remarkable in function or aesthetics. They are a solid color and are lacking in variety what most humans would attribute to beauty. I see that you playing on my sense of vanity." He summed plainly and accurately. "A 'white lie' to coin a human colloquialism. Thank you. You have exceptional bedside manners."

She couldn't resist a smirk _Such a smart mouth, even as a human._ There were times that Data's child-like observations reminded her of Wesley. And like her son, Data was correct; her attempt at a compliment was stemming from an endeavor to soften the blow of her upcoming news that he would not be leaving Sick Bay. She opted to deliver the good news first, to deflect from his accurate observation in regard to his eyes.

"You're making good progress. And you're just about ready to use that stomach. I'll start you off on a liquid supplement later tonight, and we'll see how you handle it."

She tapped her tricorder happily, Starfleet having retracted the updates and reverted to the old system after the flood of complaints overwhelmed Command. No more switching between Medical and Engineering; one did the job perfectly.

"Am I released from Sick Bay?" He sounded almost cheerful.

"Not yet, you're not. Your lungs are still underdeveloped and your immune system is weak." She folded her instrument. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to stay put for a while longer."

"I see." He said quietly, looking down at the assorted touch padds and novels around him. He had read them all, sorted his files and deleted duplicates, and after all was said and done he understood what 'bored' felt like on such an intimate level, that he had dedicated .30 seconds on observing why humans tended to say they were _were_ bored, adopting the emotion to describe their entire selves, as opposed to_ feeling_ bored.

He had even felt other emotions as well; diluted as they were from an ill-formed amygdala, prevented from developing completely due to the physical presence of his positronic brain, which was still perfectly preserved from the EVE virus. As a matter of fact, most of his human brain was misshapen and imperfect from having the insufficient space to develop properly. This resulted in Dr. Crusher's installing an implant that truncated his natural brain's instructions, and Data programming a software version of the _reptilian brain_ that controlled his organic body's autonomic functions. It resulted in three heart-attacks before he got it just right.

Needless to say, they were impressed that his completely artificial brain could sustain an organic body through complex algorithms and subroutines that in Dr. Crusher's spare time, she spent most of it with Data developing a thesis on the use of cybernetics as a legitimate alternative to the extensive and often faulty organ regrowth therapy for brain-damaged patients.

"We'll have to put our thesis on hold for now. Commander Riker wants me on the Breen vessel to determine the cause of death of the crew members. You're stable, so I feel comfortable leaving you on your own. If you experience any trouble, you can contact Nurse Ogawa."

"Is there anything I can do to assist you from here, doctor?" Data asked with an almost desperate edge to his voice. Geordi had been kind enough to supply him with mission reports and basic program coding updates to keep his mind occupied during his stay. He had finished them within a couple hours and found himself barraging Doctor Crusher with offers of assistance.

"No, you need to stay within the UV generator. Your immune system isn't strong enough to combat outside germs just yet."

"I will remain in the generator. Would you like me to mix poultices for you? I heard you were practicing a more holistic approach to mild crew irritations."

"No! You're supposed to limit your contact with objects to minimize exposure to contaminants! You're lucky I let Geordi give you those!" She pointed to the small pile of touch padds. He never broke eye contact, but his head bobbed lower as if to say_ I was only trying to help._

She turned to leave, but slowed as she walked away, then came to a halt. "Actually, there is something you can do. Would you tell me if you get the sudden urge to cough or sneeze?"

"Yes. I can notify you using the intercom if you wish."

"That's fine. Thank you." She almost managed to leave the containment room when he poised another question that made her halt.

"What does it feel like, doctor?"

"What does what feel like?"

"A cough or sneeze. I understand it to be an involuntary reflex. However since I have never done it before, I do not know how to recognize it if I do."

"Well, a cough feels like a tickle or irritation in your chest that a sudden clearing of the throat or forceful exhalation immediately relieves. A sneeze is a sudden... almost explosive... A-choo."

"I understand that 'achoo' is an onomatopoeia that is not entirely accurate. I have observed that people rarely make that sound when sneezing. For example, some try to speak when sneezing. "bless you" is a common phrase. Others make a snorting sound and some stifle their sneeze and make no sound at all. Barclay's sneezes sound like coughing, and O'Brien squeaks."

"Okay, well I see that trying to describe it by sound isn't very helpful." Indeed, he had asked her what it felt like, not sounded like. She belatedly realized he had already put a lot of observation into the more random aspects of human afflictions in his previous attempts to mimic them. "Let's see, how it feels." She thought for a second. "It starts off as a build up of pressure... your face scrunches up and there's a few seconds of a need for release. Like sex!" She extended her palm in emphasis.

"Sex, doctor?" He looked bewildered. "I fail to see how rhythmic movements produce a sensation similar to a sneeze."

"Well, climax and orgasm more specifically."

She was met with a blank and humble stare. "Although I have engaged in sexual relations, I lack the ability to experience either climax or orgasm to recognize that as a symptom of a sneeze. Do you have any other examples?"

She raised a curious brow at his sudden display of naivety regarding his shortcomings. She doubted very much that was the case anymore, evidenced by the presence of essential structures within the human brain that surrounded his positronic one. But rather delve into the details of new possibilities for him, as that would undoubtedly cause more delay, she kept on topic. "Data, you're going to have to take my word for it that you will recognize it when it happens."

"Understood." His head cocked to the side as a thought occurred to him. "Should I aim to squeak, cough, or say something when it does?"

She suppressed the urge to laugh. "I think you are looking too deeply into it. Just... experience it first, and you will have plenty of opportunities to experiment with sneezing later."

"Very well, doctor. I will do as you suggest and relish the experience first."

"There's a good lad."

_._

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_._

Further investigation revealed nothing else about the ship that Geordi and Riker hadn't already gathered, and even though it was a ghost ship in that no one was alive to man it, Riker and Geordi still caught themselves reaching for their phasers at the slightest click or moan of the ship.

"This place gives me the creeps." Riker said to himself quietly as he tried to activate the crew manifest without luck. "I think we've done all we can here."

A blood-curdling scream emanated from the bowels of the ship.

"Deanna!" Riker shouted and ran down the corridor. He heard Geordi following quickly behind him, heavy boots clanking on the metal scaffolding. His phaser already in hand and set to stun, he shouted her name again.

"Deanna!"

"It's all right, Will." Deanna breathed. "I'm in here." Her voice echoed from below the scaffolding. He sheathed his phaser and descended the crew's ladder, and landed a mere foot away from her.

"I take it you found something?" Riker said, annoyed with the sudden surge of adrenaline that made his heart race.

"I did. Geordi, would you come down here?" She stepped back as Geordi descended the ladder. "All of the crew quarters are much the same; evidence of warriors and hunters, but no real engineers or science officers. Except this one."

"What a litterbug!" Geordi exclaimed. Mechanical parts covered the entire floor and some hung from the ceiling from wires. "I take it this was the engineer's room?" He raised a brow at the messy quarters, and realized there was no bed, no replicator, no evidence of anyone actually living within. "Or maybe a lab?"

"Not a lab. Room is accurate." Deanna broke eye contact with Geordi. "I... thought I recognized some technology on the far table over there." She pointed across the small quarters. "It's reminiscent of some of the parts in Data's lab." He followed her finger and slowly stepped towards it, eyes narrowing. "They have very peculiar similarities."

"That they do." Geordi verified, holding up a computer chip to the lights of his glass faceplate. "But this can't be right." He looked back to Deanna. "We could have Data confirm the style, though."

Riker sighed as his heart rate began to slow. "Deanna, it's not like you to scream at a pile of computer chips." He stated matter-of-factly. She slowly turned to look at him, expression apologetic and also equally annoyed in the dark light.

"I know." She dead-panned. "I didn't scream at them, I screamed at _her_."

_"Her?"_

She swivelled her torch to a small outcropping of the crew's quarters, just behind Commander Riker. In the dark recesses of the tiny three-square foot room just behind him, a young woman stood, head down and face slack and expressionless like a zombie. She stood upright in perfect balance, unlike the collapsed slaves and Breen who dotted the ship's floor. Riker jumped at the sight.

"Jesus! You could have given me a warning that she was standing right behind me!"

Deanna chuckled._ Serves you right._ "Don't worry, she's not active. I thought she was alive at first, which was why I screamed. She caught me off-guard."

"Is it an android? Like Data?" Riker braved a closer look. She was a beautiful thing, near as he could tell.

"Mmm," Geordi appraised her critically. "She doesn't look like a Soong-style." He slid the computer chip he had been holding into his thick suit pocket for later identification. Upon further inspection he shook his head definitively. "No, she isn't anything like Soong's androids. But those parts over there could be."

He stared at her critically. Her skin was almost transparent and see-through, her underlying metallic spine and circuitry clearly visible. "Commander, I'd like to bring her to Enterprise." He turned to look at his commanding officer.

"If we can find a way of activating her," Geordi theorized, "She might be able to tell us what happened to the ship."

_._

_._

_._


	19. Chapter 19: Saee

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**Chapter 19:**  
**Saee**  
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Data turned the touch padd off, having finished reading more of the ship's updated roster. As it turned off, his reflection looked back at him. He stared at it for .52 seconds, scanning his face, and his heart sank with what he had seen. Ah, disappointment. That was new emotion. He supposed he was lucky he was incapable of feeling emotions at their normal strength, otherwise he was certain he would be visiting the counselor on a daily basis.

He looked again at his reflection. He had memorized every curve, line, contour and imperfection from the first time he discovered he had flesh, but still he went back to look again, just to be certain: Yes, it was just as it had been yesterday, after the very last inch or so of bright white separated from the flesh underneath.

Another thing that happened yesterday was he had his very first real human dream, after he could no longer keep his eyes open and fell asleep from exhaustion. And it was a remarkably good dream; EVE and DAWN had reversed themselves, and his human flesh melted off to reveal that pristine white of his polymer. His dark hair grew back, his gold eyes could zoom and analyze, and he went where he wished. Even his friends went back to treating him the way he was before. And then he woke up in Sick Bay underneath that infuriating UV containment field, and in a desperate hope that maybe the dream had some merit, he had grabbed his touch padd to see a human face staring back at him.

He put the touch padd away.

"Data, a word?" Riker's voice disturbed Data's melancholic reverie, and he was thankful for it.

"Certainly, Commander. How may I assist you?" He asked and shuddered as his modesty program alerted him that his Sick Bay Attire was still unacceptable in professional company.

"Geordi asked me to bring this to you." He held a thin plastic sheath between his two fingers and reached beyond the UV containment field. Data snatched it with desperate curiosity and poured it out of its case into his other hand.

"We found it on the Breen ship. Geordi suspected it was Soong tech. We were hoping you could identify it for us."

Data held up the chip and tilted it in the light for a better look. Without his ability to zoom, he had to resort to other methods to enhance his vision, as humans did. "They do appear to be rudimentary parts of a Soong-style memory core." He slid the technology back into its protective plastic sleeve.

"I could understand finding spare parts near Omicron Theta or Dr. Soong's old lab, but how did these end up on a Breen ship in Ferengi Territory?" Riker asked.

"That is a mystery." He gripped it in his hand tightly, feeling the comforting roughness of its artificial edges.

"Perhaps one of Dr. Soong's labs were raided, and sold as scrap?" Riker supposed, thinking aloud. He had come on behalf of Geordi, who had his hands full with a Breen computer log and a new Android to look over.

"It is the only real possible conclusion one could gather at this point. But I fail to see the appeal of this technology for anyone who doesn't have a background in cybernetics."

"There was also an android discovered in what we are assuming was the Engineer's quarters. We're trying to activate her now." He saw Data's dark eyebrows rise to his fuzzy hairline. "But she's not a Soong Android. Geordi tells me she's nothing like you."

"Not anymore." Data whispered so quietly that Riker hadn't heard, and when asked to repeat, Data deflected. "Please, continue."

"Geordi is having a look at her right now. It was dark on the Breen ship so I didn't see much of her at first glance."

"It is possible that she may have been attempting to upgrade her hardware. However, most androids are already installed with programs that prevent self-tampering, and I have come to understand that mixing technology with regards to cybernetics is risky and often incompatible, particularly with the Soong design. Even so, the Daystrom institute has yet to successfully merge my father's technology with any other. To be able to successfully marry any would be a reflection of incomparable skill."

"Well, I suppose we'll figure it out after we activate her. Thank you, Data. I'll keep you updated." Riker held out his hand, and Data shook it.

Riker didn't return the shake. "Data. The chip? Can I have it back?"

"Oh." Data said, still holding onto it tightly, as a little boy would a lucky cricket. "Would you mind if I kept it, Commander? For the time being?"

"Why? What use would you have for that? You don't need-" Riker saw the expression in the ex-android's long face and stopped. "Data?" If he didn't know any better, Riker would say he looked hurt. "Data, you aren't actually upset you're human, are you?"

"On the contrary, Commander. I am not human. By definition I am a cyborg." He slowly extended his closed fist towards his commanding officer. "I am neither what I was, nor am I what I had always aspired to be."

"Keep it. It's ok." Riker stepped backwards casually, distancing himself. "You look like you could use it more than Geordi can. I'll tell him what he wanted to know. Thank you." He said, then turned and walked away.

"Thank you, Commander." Data replied, and watched his other friend exit.

_._

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_._

"Data just verified for us they are Soong-inspired parts, but had some minor differences in design." Riker leaned over the engineering table and sized up the female android for a second time. In better light, he could see she had a delicate face like a doll, large eyes and small nose and lips. Someone had taken liberty of flinging an anti-static tarp over her exposed body. "Any luck in activating the android?"

Riker hazarded a peak underneath it, unable to deny his boyish curiosity. He observed she was decently endowed in the chest and rounded in the hips; a figure he could appreciate. Whoever had designed her had good taste. He released the corner of the tarp and stood stock still just as Geordi rounded the corner.

"Not yet. I'm still analyzing the Breen ship logs to determine the cause of the systems failure, and it's proving to be a tough job."

The tarp slid off her body in response to Commander Riker's earlier upset of it, exposing her body and his crime to her decency. Riker fought a sudden blush as Geordi stifled a laugh.

"You're not the first one who did that, Commander. But from what I could glean off her..." He said, clearing his throat and draping the tarp back over her dubious frame, "She's not an android."

"No? She looks like one to me." He exclaimed._ And a very nicely built one._ He almost added.

"No sir, she isn't. You see, the difference between an Android and a Robot is intention and appearance. This," He waved at the robot with his hand, as if referring to her as a stack of junk, "can't even pass as a human."

That was true enough; her circuitry was plainly visible beneath almost perfectly see-through skin, and he clearly saw shiny metallic rods passed for the long bones of her body, and she had durable flexible plastic at the joints where a humanoid would normally have cartilage. Wiring had snaked along the metal and plastic, offering power and movement, and thin hydraulic cylinders promised movement and superior strength.

"She's obviously artificial, and whatever company that mass manufactured her didn't care to conceal that fact. I haven't activated her, but judging by her programs, her AI is rudimentary at best. You could probably equate it to the ship's own AI. The likelihood of her developing a complex consciousness is very small. And after observing her programs... I gotta say commander... she's a love bot." Geordi blurted.

"A_ love bot?!_"

Geordi nodded solemnly, and how he kept from blushing was anyone's guess - Riker had all but stopped trying to conceal his embarrassment by now.

"Oh the captain is going to love hearing we have a sex toy in engineering." He said sarcastically, then frowned. Odd, something about her seemed different. Her blank and relaxed expression never changed, but her features were framed by black hair and mocha-colored eyes. "Geordi... didn't she used to be blonde?"

"She was. Ensign Cito discovered she's customizable. Both he and Argyle have been changing her settings all day."

"Why do I have a feeling bringing her on board was a mistake?"

"It's just some harmless fun, Commander."

"Maybe. Well, put some clothes on her will you? If she has any shred of AI, she'd probably appreciate the courtesy."

Geordi bit his lower lip. "Yes sir." He said just as Riker turned to leave. Geordi tapped his touch padd, evaluating the love bot objectively. Her? Appreciate clothing? He had briefly viewed her programming, and it was woefully simplistic. For her to appreciate clothing would be contradictory to what she was intended to be. He didn't have to activate her to know what she would do - but if Commander Riker wanted her clothed, then he would clothe her without argument, and then she would remove them once she was activated. He sighed.

"Maybe Data will let me copy his modesty program and install it in her."

_._

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_._

Data was running the side of his index lovingly over the Soong chip, pillow tucked underneath his elbow. Below him, a bouquet of get-well flowers Deanna had sent him had wilted and died, but still dispersed their organic aroma like potpourri. But he didn't notice either sight or smell; the only thing in his world was that beautiful, glorious chip in his hand.

Lal, his brother, himself. All relics now that no longer remained. Nothing but that chip - how did it get here? What was the android doing with it? If she knew about Soong parts, would she recognize him for what he used to be? Would she regard him as the most advanced android in the three known Quadrants, or... He gripped the chip tightly, enjoying the dull pain its edges caused as they dug into his new flesh.

_Flesh._

He didn't understand; he was supposed to be happy, and he understood that the new female android in Engineering should be intriguing and exciting. And she _was_ intriguing that was undeniably true; but it wasn't excitement he felt, it was anxiety. He very badly wanted to see her and be the one to reactivate her, and inquire what she was doing with his technology and if she thought they were compatible with hers.

But he couldn't - he was here, in Sick Bay, under this containment and hooked to the oxygenation machine, and still couldn't eat: he had vomited his first liquid supplement - a gruelling experience for someone who didn't know what to expect when that happened. He learned very quickly that vomiting was not a pleasant human experience - much like everything else.

He heard the doors open behind him, and he closed his eyes and exhaled in frustration. Was it Dr. Crusher with more of those awful hypo sprays? He didn't care what she said - those things stung.

"Hello, Data." He heard Tasha say, and he lifted himself on his elbows and rolled over. She was giving him that playful grin she was known for as she awkwardly entered. She was wearing a dress that looked like one of Deanna's, and it made him ponder why males didn't share their clothing with one another also - a curious difference between the genders.

He could see that she carried a rectangular object into Sick Bay with both hands. He looked at the object quizzically and opened his mouth to inquire. Did she carry that all the way from Ten-Forward?

"I figured we could play chess together." She explained after seeing his look of interested bewilderment. She set it down just at the containment field, and scooted it into his cramped little space. "Did you want to be white? Or black?" She asked, not giving him time to object to the idea.

"Black, please." He answered, still confused. "May I ask why you have relocated the chess board from Ten-Forward?" Surely Guinan would not have approved the move of Ten-Forward's most popular past-time.

"You're very lonely." She removed the pieces from their container and picked the black from the white, setting them in a neat pile in front of him.

"I was not aware that loneliness had a corresponding expression."

"It doesn't. But even if it did, you don't have to have eyes or be an empath to know when your friend is miserable." She sat cross-legged on the floor as he did, and worked to set the board. She had been aware of his emotional state since Geordi had left Sick Bay to return to work. She had overheard him confide in Counselor Troi that he was concerned for Data, after he had spent half the night staring at his reflection with a frown.

Deanna had listened to Geordi's concerns, but expressed she couldn't begin any real session until he could leave Sick Bay, which from the sounds of it, would be very soon. Tasha had to agree with Deanna's assessment of Sick Bay's atmosphere. It was not a good setting for therapy, but it was fine for chess and a friendly conversation. "So, what's on your mind?"

"I was contemplating the intricacies of hardware compatibility with regards to differing technological styles, and how Soong-style technology could become obsolete."

"Why do you think it'll become obsolete?"

"Because there are no more Soong androids after me." With his brother dismantled after his misguided attempt to control the Borg, and his notification that Juliana Tainer had passed away the year before, he had understood he was the last surviving member of his family.

"That doesn't mean you weren't the most complex android modern technology has ever seen. In fact, it makes your technology more valuable." She made her first move.

"I did not think that my father's hardware could be considered a collectible item."

"Why not? Doesn't the value of a painting increase after the death of the artist?"

"This is true." He blinked repeatedly, processing the thought. "You equate me to a work of art, with Dr. Soong as the artist. This is an intriguing perspective." Data said as he moved his piece. Then suddenly reminded, said: "Tasha. I wanted to relay to you my gratitude for recovering the Auto Writer from Haven Headquarters."

She looked briefly startled by the sudden change in topic. "Don't mention it. Turns out there wasn't really anything on it that would have helped you anyway." Tasha took one of his pawns.

"That is not entirely accurate. The Auto Writer instructed Doctor Crusher to increase my nutritional supplementation, which was a requirement for further organic development. It is quite possible that I would still be comatose if it had been destroyed as Batto had planned."

"I just wish I could do more for you." She moved her knight.

"Unfortunately there is not much else you can do. Dr. Crusher and Geordi La Forge have done an exemplary job in extending my lifespan as a cyberbiotic life-form. No others are better qualified." He said confidently and moved his rook. She moved her own pawn forward to block his. He stared at her for a moment, then looked back at the chess table. A moment of silence passed between them.

She cleared her throat. "Have you developed anything new?" _A joke tendon, maybe?_

"Dr. Crusher has identified several organic structures within my human brain that she recognized as dopamine receptor sites."

"Oh?" She feigned excitement for a moment, then corrected herself. "I'm sorry, I don't really know what that means."

"It represents my eligibility for alternative pain management therapy. Doctor Crusher has me on a time-release. As a result I am feeling much better, and spend the majority of my time in a conscious state."

"You were in pain this whole time? Without any means to treat it?"

"Yes, but I was not aware it was pain at the time. Since I had no previous sensations as a reference, I could not differentiate pain from a normal state of being."

"Data, are you telling me that the entire duration you've been part human, you've only known _misery?_" Somehow it seemed terribly unfair.

"That is correct."

"Have you felt pleasure?"

"Once, when Nurse Ogawa miscalculated my first analgesic. With that singular exception I have yet to experience the positive aspects of owning skin or organs. It would seem being human is much more uncomfortable than I had anticipated."

"Oh." Was all she could say. She had known Data's lifelong goal was to become human, but it seemed cruel that the cost of realizing this dream was constant pain. It was a sobering thought, and she was reminded of a nursery story she had heard as a child before she was abandoned; Hans Christian Andersen's _The Little Mermaid_, where the protagonist traded her fins for feet, but suffered debilitating pain in the process, only to die by sacrificing herself later when she failed to attract her prince. It was a depressing story for any little girl; and hadn't improve her opinion of life in general. She had never known happiness on Turkana IV, and even fairy tales were grim and sad. Like _The Little Mermaid,_ she dreamed of something better and she received it, but at the cost of her sister. She could relate to Data's experience in her own way, she supposed.

"Tasha?"

"Huh?"

"I understand that humans prefer to analyze and draw out the possibilities regarding each potential choice they make, and often re-analyze each consequence to ensure they are choosing the best course of action. However, I suspect you may have lost track of this tradition."

She blinked at him.

"It is your turn."

It _was_ her turn. She had been so distracted with depressing reality, that she had forgotten why she visited him.

"It is my move, isn't it." She tapped her fingers on the chess board, then bit her lower lip. She spent so many nights dreaming of a day when she would be rescued from that awful planet. Eventually she was by Starfleet, and in immeasurable gratitude she joined their ranks, waiting for an opportunity to extend that compassion she was shown to someone else. Now the opportunity had made itself present once again. _But I don't want to give him the wrong impression._ Well, she supposed it was now or never.

"Data, I don't want you to misinterpret this move."

"I think you are missing the point of chess, since the basis of the game is to lead an opponent into misinterpreting intent for the sake of gaining an upper hand. For-" She leaned over the chess table, grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him forward. A soft brush of the lips. Electricity sparked harmlessly against flesh as physical contact grounded Tasha to the increased electrical field of the UV chamber.

A myriad of sensations flooded him - Gentle pressure, Soft lips, her warm hand on his neck, and a bizarre tingling sensation that engulfed his entire body. He heard the machine behind him whirr as it compensated in response to his increased heart rate. Their lips parted.

"Was _that_ painful?"

The tingling sensation began to fade. "No. It was surprisingly..." Wonderful. Addictive. Enjoyable. Pleasing. Heavenly. There were too many descriptions available to choose just one, so he chose the common denominator. "...Good."

She sat back and sported a crooked smile. She moved her rook, and he moved his queen. They continued to play in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's simple company. And 37 minutes and 22 seconds passed.

"Thank you." He broke the long silence. She looked at him, puzzled. "For the kiss." He reminded.

"Oh! You're welcome."

He opened his mouth to say something else, then decided against it. But it was too late; she caught the indecisive display.

"Is something wrong?"

"I understand your intentions were to illustrate through tactile contact that there are other possibilities besides what I am accustomed to, and that this singular act should not be interpreted as a courtship ritual. And I would not want to lessen the magnitude of the experience, or take for granted that superlative gift. However," He paused to analyze the subtle emotion that settled into his being. Was that anxiety again?

"However?"

"If you do not find it to be imposing, may I have another one?"

_._

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_._

Dr. Beverly Crusher was roused from sleep at the alarm that sounded from her bed stand. She snapped awake, years of medical training having conditioned her to transition from sleep to complete awareness within seconds. The oxygenation machine was ringing, signifying an imbalance between oxygen feed and heart rate. She grabbed her lab coat off the back of her chair and ran.

Entering Sick Bay, she could see her patient was laying on the floor, prostrate among the small pile of touch padds. Tasha Yar was hovering over him, trying to rouse him.

"What happened?" Dr. Crusher knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. It was very rapid, but steady and strong.

Tasha made a nervous fist with her left hand. "H-He He toppled over." She uncurled her fingers and ran them through her hair. Well, toppling over was one of the things he did, that was technically true. "Is there anything I can do to help?" She swiftly smoothed her dress

"My tricorder is in my office. Get it, would you?"

A few seconds later the tricorder was presented to her. She hovered it over his trunk, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"He's all right, it looks like he just fainted." Even now he was beginning to stir. She could see his eyes beginning to shift and flutter underneath his dark lashes. "I warned him not to get his heart rate up, the oxygenation machine can't meet that level of demand!"_ What the hell would make his heart rate jump like that?_ She glanced at the abandoned chess table. She was aware he was capable of feeling diluted emotions, and a whole slew of them could have affected his heart rate. "Was he losing, by any chance?"

Tasha opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it, then opened it again. "Ah..."

"I was not in the _process_ of losing, since the game had already been concluded. I became over excited afterwards, and _then_ I fainted." Came his quick explanation. His heart rate was slowly returning to normal and Dr. Crusher helped him to his feet.

"Well, do me a favor and try not to get so worked up over losing next time? You have to keep your heart rate _down_."

"My apologies doctor. I will endeavor to control my emotional responses in the future."

"Thank you. Now if you will excuse me, I have some sleep to catch up on." They watched as she left sick bay rubbing her forehead. When the doors slid shut, Tasha turned to face him.

"Data, why did you lie to her?"

"I did not lie. I was not in the process of losing as I stated, and the game is finished. My following statements were also accurate."

"Since when did we finish the game?"

"Since I took your queen. I take it that you did not notice the current position of my knight?"

She eyed the chessboard critically, with her mouth ajar in dumb shock. Who the hell can play chess while doing _that_? "God-damn!"

"I take your expletive to mean that you have just discovered you have lost the game."

She continued to study the board, looking for any possible move that would free her trapped piece. Damn it, she hated losing!

"Game rules dictate that I must announce. You are in checkmate."

_._

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_._

Deanna was off-duty, but couldn't resist Geordi's request to dress the new resident love bot that had attracted Commander Riker's ire. Deanna had noticed empathically that the bot had done more than raise his ire, and opted for the least figure-flattering garments she had in her wardrobe to compensate for what she was sure would be an uncomfortable reputation until the bot could make one for herself after she was activated.

"There we go." Deanna said cheerfully as she zipped up the grey body suit from behind, then proceeded to braid the love bot's now dark brown hair. "So, let me get this straight: her hair is clear-coated with fiber-optic cores that allow you to change her hair to any color you wish."

"Hair, eyes, even lips." Geordi verified as he fiddled with the Breen ship's computer log, then cursed as it failed to release its information for the fifteenth time.

"Well, I think you would look beautiful with natural colored lips, personally. That dark shade does nothing for you. There! Pretty as a picture." She smiled as the love bot reflected Deanna's own version of beautiful, but she never stirred from where she stood. "I wonder what your name is?"

"Saee." Geordi answered simply.

"Saee?" She looked back at the bot. "Did you name her?"

"Negative, Counselor. Her program comes with an introductory form that activates her after her owner completes her registration and specs her. Her previous owner typed in 'Saee' for her name." The computer beeped suddenly, and Geordi bashed his fist against its surface. "I can't do this anymore! If I fail one more time, I'm going to break something." Geordi lifted his hands in surrender, then rounded the love bot.

"Maybe a little break will do me some good." Besides, he had to admit that the thought of activating Saee and interacting with her was foremost on his mind. "Would you hand me that connecting cord over there?"

Deanna handed it to him, then folded her hands behind her back to stare some more at the novelty in Engineering. "You look like a Saee. What stories must you have?"

"It didn't look like her registration was ever completed, but I only gave it a quick glance. But she probably doesn't have any stories to tell since she was never activated." He hooked her to the ship's computer. "So she probably can't tell us what happened to the crew."

"Considering she's a love bot, I suppose that's a good thing she won't have any stories to tell."

"Not exactly 'dinner party' material." Geordi chuckled and opened her brain case - a simple tap at the back of her neck that flipped the entire half of her skull upwards. "All right, let's hook her up and finish this Registration form, then we can..." He trailed off, eyes squinting. Wait a minute, why hadn't he seen this before? "Uhhh, on second thought..." He bit his lower lip. _Because I was distracted before._ He told himself.

"What is it, Geordi?"

"I could be wrong, but there's after market hardware in here." He reached in to dislodge it. "I can't get it out though, but it is definitely not original manufacturing. Looks like there are other structures in here, too." He shut the braincase, the only opaque part of her body. "I'm not comfortable activating her until I know exactly what I'm dealing with here."

"You think she was intended for other purposes than love?" Deanna asked suddenly, sensing Geordi's sudden increase in alarm.

"That is definitely what it looks like." And with the peculiar Soong-inspired hardware scattered in the Breen Engineer's quarters... "I really hope I'm wrong about this, Counselor." he resisted a shudder. He wound up the connecting cord and stored it in the engineering table, then pulled out a touch padd and cord, and connected them together.

"Let's see just who owned you, Saee." A few seconds of tapping and he pulled up her registration.

"Manufacturer Gerardell, Model S1-72, Year ..." He mumbled through her definitions, then rested on the partially filled-out form. "Name, Saee. Loyalty, singular. Gender preference, undefined. Personality, undefined. Lovemaking style, undefined. Voice range, undefined." He stopped to look at Deanna. "Indecisive or just lazy?"

"Or maybe he wanted her to develop on her own." She suggested.

"Culture, undefined. Language, undefined." He skipped the long list of _undefined_ that was her customizable programming, and his eyes rested on one of the last questions. "Owner..." He read, then slowly set the touch padd on the table.

_._

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_._


	20. Chapter 20: The Art of a Sneeze

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**Chapter 20:**  
**The Art of a Sneeze**

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Captain Picard sat in his Ready Room, communicating through his computer to Geordi La Forge. "Commander Riker has informed me that Engineering is in possession of a Love bot." Picard said almost playfully with raised brows. Geordi stepped aside just enough that it allowed the captain to view the object of interest. She was dressed modestly, long dark hair braided and draped over a thin shoulder. She looked painfully artificial with see-through skin, so much that it made Data's previous form appear realistic by comparison, white polymer and gold eyes notwithstanding.

"That we do. We misunderstood her to be an android, and brought her on board with the hopes that she could recount what happened to the crew after activating her."

"And have you activated her?"

"No, captain. After reviewing Saee's programs, hardware and profile, I don't think that's a very good idea, sir."

"Explain."

"On account that she has been modified with Soong Parts. More specifically, Data identified Saee has an alternate memory core installed. The Breen Engineer's quarters were littered with Soong tech, and her registration indicates she was named and owned by Lore."

"Lore."

"That's right. And there's no telling whose memories that core carries. I can activate her if you wish, but we run the very real risk that we may be activating an alternate rendition of him, if those memories turn out to be a copy of his."

"What about the original manufacturing? Does Saee have any memories of her own?"

"Negative. She wasn't even activated."

Picard nodded slowly, satisfied with the answer. "All right. Let's err on the side of caution, and have her dismantled at the earliest opportunity." He supposed it wasn't murder if this 'Saee' had never existed at all through lack of her activation. Still, it was a decision he didn't take lightly, but found the risk to his crew was too great to allow. And judging by Geordi's following mannerisms, he agreed.

"Aye, sir."

Picard clicked off the monitor and curled a finger over his upper lip in thought.

Should he have asked Data's opinion on the matter? Although he valued each crew member's thoughts, was there even a point in this case?

Just what the hell was Saee? What was Lore trying to obtain by modifying a pre-existing robot? Was he trying to make a lover for himself? Did that make Saee Data's sister-in-law and essentially a widow before she was even aware of her own existence? And did he have any right to order Data's family member be dismantled?

Then again, she had never been activated, so how could he kill something that never really existed? And whose memories did she hold if none for herself? And assuming that Geordi and Data could even remove the Soong tech to eliminate the potential threat that those memories were Lore's, wouldn't that reduce her to being what she was originally manufactured to be - a love bot? He would not be able to explain that to Starfleet without attracting condemnation, and for good reason.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. This situation had become encumbered far quicker than he had liked, and it wasn't the complexity that bothered him as much as the moral repercussions of the options he could exercise.

The sound of Beverly Crusher's voice broke his focus. "Captain? I have news with regards to the death of the Breen."

"Excellent. I'll meet you in Sick Bay, doctor." He supposed he would have to notify Data of his order to dismantle Saee, who was still stuck in Sick Bay. Hopefully, his second officer would find the logic in that decision to agree with it.

He ran over the looming converstion in his head as he left his Ready Room and into the Turbo lift, thinking of possible replies and any contradictions in logic Data may provide, and thought about how he could relay this message with utmost sensitivity, and found there wasn't a way.

Before he knew it, he was in Sick Bay with Dr. Crusher in her office, telling him she would be out in just a moment.

Data was still in the UV containment field, absorbed in the contents of a touch padd. Picard had barely noticed him, tan-colored from the UV, with the light-brown fuzz of new hair dusting the top of his head. He looked so human that he looked alien and almost unrecognizable. Their eyes met. He nodded in acknowledgment.

"Captain." He greeted.

The voice was exactly the same as it had been before. Confident this was indeed Data, Picard approached him. "I wanted you to know that I have decided not to activate Saee." He told him as gently as possible, and watched as Data set his touch padd on the bed beside him. "Given the circumstances and risk involved."

"Although I entertained the thought of meeting my niece, I am relieved. I came to the same conclusion you had."

"Oh, well good." Picard said plainly. This was much easier a conversation than he had anticipated; he expected at least some measure of resistance. His second officer's complete cooperation was a refreshing change to the recent resistence he met with what should have been a simple scientific study of bacteria on a gas giant. However, something Data said had thrown him off. "Niece?"

Data offered a series of tiny nods of confirmation. "I find your assessment of risk to the crew is accurate, since the chance of the memories being a copy of Lore's is high. But your conclusion to Lore's underlying motive for fitting Saee with Soong parts is not."

"You're saying he was trying to create a daughter for himself?"

"Yes. Unlike myself, Lore was not installed with a sexuality program. That is a trait unique to myself." He averted his gaze as a series of thoughts clouded his mind. He had rarely used that gift his parents designed for him: His inability to love barred him from establishing any relationship that could act as a precursor to such activities, except for the one time he and Yar had succumbed to intoxication, which was an incident that she still refused to acknowledge. And just recently again within Sick Bay merely three days prior, in a spontaneous moment of... what would that be categorized under? Mutual loneliness?

Still, as infrequently used as it was, he remembered Lore's immeasurable disgust at learning of his younger brother's unique programming through casual conversation, and Data remembered the flood of revulsion the chip had transmitted to him in that moment at Lore's thought of him having copulated with an organic, all the while being surrounded by Borg.

Clearly, Lore was of the opinion that sex was on the same level as dung-flinging. To create a mate for himself to do the very thing he found distasteful was too far out of character to be even remotely possible. "So he would have no need for a mate." Data concluded.

But a daughter - that was the more likely scenario.

After having left Enterprise and meeting with his brother and his dysfunctional Borg, Data had, at some point, confided to Lore that he had created Lal. He saw his older brother was smiling that very same way Deanna Troi had smiled at her newborn son. It was a rare expression that was alarming at first: usually Lore's smiles were accompanied with an acerbic spark in his eyes, adding the element of danger to each expression. But in that brief and tender moment, there was nothing but sincerity.

"When I was under his influence, I had shared with him the news of Lal. He was overcome with an emotion I recognized as happiness." Lore had a wistful look to him then, which regrettably faded and twisted at the news of her cascade failure. In a fit of polarity he displayed a range of emotions from happiness to grief, then finally to spiteful rage, after learning that Admiral Haftel had literally frightened his niece into a premature death. It was that overwhelming grief that had tipped Data into staying with his brother and his Borg, that moment of weakness that allowed Lore to get his hooks into him.

"It would be a logical conclusion that he shared my desire to procreate."

Following the mutual share of grief through the emotion chip, Lore had admitted that creating a stable Neural Net was a difficult process. Data had failed to realize then that likely, Lore had experienced the same result. And although Lore had never mentioned any children, Data couldn't help but wonder now: Did Lore have a daughter or son at some point? Was that what encouraged him to turn to a pre-made model and modify it? If that was the case, then why did he abandon her before activating her?

He supposed with Lore being dismantled, he would never know, since activating Saee was too risky an endeavor to attempt now.

Although the memory of their shared grief over losing Lal was just as clear then as it was now, the echo of that terribly powerful emotion, grief, remained like a gentle hum of a voice deep in his heart. Once again, he was thankful he could only feel the diluted versions. "If you don't mind, I would like to be the one to deconstruct Saee."

"As you wish. I can have Geordi relocate her to your lab."

"Thank you, captain." He said, then frowned suddenly, mouth slack and brows creased.

"Data? Are you all right?" He asked, his accent adding a noticable 'r' at the end of his name.

Data didn't answer right away, finding himself unable, overcome with too peculiar a sensation. It started as a tickle in the bridge of his nose. His eyes began to water as the electric sensation spread across his face, which involuntarily contorted. He noticed a buildup of pressure, much like the crescendo of a fabulous song about to end, followed by an explosive "Achoo!" With strong sense of satisfaction at the finish.

His grief was suddenly replaced with wonder, and his face had relaxed for only a moment before a smile lit his eyes with excited discovery. "Is_ is_ Just like sex!"

He looked to Dr. Crusher's office. "Doctor! Doctor!" He barked excitedly. "I sneezed! I said 'Achoo'!"

Picard watched Data's child-like discovery and laughed as Doctor Crusher emerged from the bowels of her office, hands in her pockets.

"I heard! That means your lungs are finally working, so we should be able to remove you from the oxygenation machine." She entered the UV containment field and entered in a command on the oxygenator's control panel.

"Okay. I want you to start off with a deep inhale. Does it hurt, or do you feel like coughing?" With a negative answer from her patient, she turned off the machine. Within a few seconds, he began to wriggle in place, face contorting again. "Now would be the time to activate that breathing program, Data."

There was a very slight tilt of his head as he activated the program. He made a loud exhale, then an inhale, and slowly set into a quieter rhythmic pattern. "Setting pattern parameters now." He announced to no one.

Picard folded his arms, still smiling. "I never thought that I would witness the first breaths of a grown man." He had to admit, it had a magical quality to it.

"All we need now is for your immune system to catch up. A few more vaccinations, and you should be out by tomorrow."

"Precisely how many more, Doctor?"

"About seven." Dr. Crusher watched his expression fall at the prospect. "For heaven's sake, they're just Hypo Sprays! Little stings." She rolled her eyes and met Picard's. "I've never met anyone with such sensitive skin."

Her patient's expression never changed, and she focused her attention elsewhere. "Now, you're here about the cause of death of those Breen." She reminded Picard, ignoring Data's polite protest of the Hypo Sprays.

"Of course! Yes." Picard smiled again at Dr. Crusher, and gave Data a congratulatory clap on his shoulder before disappearing into Doctor Crusher's office.

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"The cause of death for nearly half of the Breen crew is hypoxia. The other half died from hypothermia." Dr. Crusher announced.

"So there is no risk to the crew if we choose to dock." Picard surmised, and Dr. Crusher nodded. Over the past three days, Geordi had uncovered most of the data from the ship's logs, which revealed it was indeed a slave ship, but no hint as to what had actually caused their deaths. But with Dr. Crusher's diagnosis, he was convinced there was no risk to his crew with regards to a possible contagion. So now they could safely dock and dispose of the Breen remains before towing it to the nearest Trade Port. From there, he could exchange the ship for the information-laden Prospector's Pamphlet.

"At least we can give these Breen a proper burial." _Proper for humans, at least._ He thought, his lips pressing to form a thin line.

Captain Picard had contacted the Breen through Ferengi channels, and learned through the Alliance that the Breen had no concern with the dead of this particular crew, so the task of burial was on his hands.

"Thank you, doctor." Picard said with a smile, blessed with a green-light to move forward. he turned around to leave her office, but paused. "Oh, and Beverly?"

She looked up at him from her chair.

"Steward Rayal had given me a 'Catchamink' from Haven before we left the Station. He said it was a delicacy not to be enjoyed alone. Would you care to join me later for dinner?"

"I would love to."

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	21. Chapter 21: Awakening

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**Chapter 21 **

**Awakening**

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"They just died!" Dr. Crusher announced in shock. "Not a single Nano is active. As if they deactivated themselves after the job was complete."

"But I am not fully human. I would not consider that a concluded mission." Data observed, then smoothly tilted his head to the side in thought. "Unless their purpose was not full conversion, but independent sustainability?"

"That has to be it, since they deactivated almost immediately after I removed you from Uv containment." She folded her tricorder and slipped it into the pocket of her blue overcoat. "And as long as you don't injure yourself or forget to eat, you're fully capable of caring for yourself now."

He didn't reply immediately, but she watched as his eyes slowly drifted to Sick Bay's exit and fixated on it longingly. Several times he had asked if he could be excused from Sick Bay, which she had declined each time because of his weak immune system. Was he resisting the urge to ask for discharge now, out of fear that she would reject?

"You're healthy as an ox. I see no reason to keep you here." She answered, without needing him to ask. Already, she was beginning to entertain the thought of an empty Sick Bay, free of constant offers of assistance and incessant babbling. She saw that Data had perked at hearing her words and started for the door, then paused suddenly, looking down at his clothing with a frown. He had reminded her often of his modesty program's parameters, and had even offered to try his hand at tailoring, offering to create new Sick Bay garments that could satisfy his need to satiate those requirements.

"What is it?" She asked, barely containing her frustration at the delay in his departure. He clearly wanted to leave, so why didn't he just go?

"This is not appropriate attire in any setting outside of Sick Bay." He said simply. "I will require a change before exiting."

She resisted the urge to laugh. "Your uniform is folded underneath the gurney. You can change in my office." She patted him on the arm and turned to the deactivated UV containment field, and began the task of pushing it into the storage room. If she saw that bulky containment machine ever again, it would be too soon...

She had been anticipating his discharge for weeks, and her skill and persistence was promising the reward of blissfully long hours spent on research, and growing her mold spores and herbs - a hobby she had to sacrifice in response to Data's extensive care. She entertained the notion that she could start a project within the hour; so that left her to wonder: Which mold culture should she start off first?

Data returned a few minutes later, dressed in his green uniform and complete with pips, and stole an investigative glance at his reflection from one of the computer screens. Had he gained weight? He tested the tightness of his shoulders. Yes, there was a slight change in his physical dimensions. It was very slight, but it didn't escape his notice.

"You're still here." She said as she exited the storage room, feigning cheerfulness. "I thought you'd be running for the bridge by now; you've been waiting for this moment for weeks."

"Your assessment of my desire is correct." He answered and looked at his reflection for a second time, observing the very subtle changes in his face. He was aware that inactivity in humans tended to cause an accumulation of sub dermal adipose tissue. He could see that he was still a slender man by his own definition, but what of others? This new change in physique opened the doors to a whole new topic of conversation he had never thought possible before.

"Am I fat, doctor?"

"-Data, get out of my hair!"

He could have countered that he_ wasn't_ in her hair, but exited Sick Bay with a trot before she escalated her request for his departure into a full-blown order.

_Curious,_ he thought to himself. Dr. Crusher seemed frustrated with his question regarding his attractiveness level. He understood that females were sensitive regarding such issue, but it wasn't as if he was asking her if _she_ was fat. Or perhaps it wasn't his question that frustrated her, but his hesitation to leave Sick Bay? Hm. He wasn't really sure.

He entered the turbo lift. "Bridge." He instructed it, and enjoyed the sound of the doors sliding shut. Now that he was blessed with subtle emotions, he could accurately say that he missed the sound of the turbo lift as it ascended.

His thoughts drifted back to Dr. Crusher. If it wasn't considered a social _faux-pas_ to shove someone out the doors, he was certain she would have. Where was this animosity towards him stemming from? It seemed sudden and random, and he couldn't place what caused it. He made it a point to be a considerate patient: He rarely argued with her and made every attempt to cooperate, Hypo Sprays notwithstanding.

He observed that most of her patients were either argumentative or grumpy, regardless of how short their stay was. He at least attempted cordiality. In fact, he did everything he could to be accommodating to her while he was there, offering his assistance with a myriad of chores, and she had declined them all. Of course, that wasn't a completely selfless act; his boredom and desperate need for distraction was often the driving force behind those offers of helpfulness.

He belatedly realized that just as he had grown frustrated with her almost constant presence, she could have been feeling the exact same way about him. If that were the case, she had concealed it well. He would have to compliment her on her impeccable bedside manner, next he saw her.

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The turbo lift doors slid open, and he saw the large, green gas giant Enterprise was currently studying on the view screen. He rounded the bridge and stood at attention.

"Data." Picard said pleasantly. "It's nice to see you on the bridge again."

"It is good to be back, sir."

"Escaped from Sick Bay, have you?" Riker joked. "Maybe we should transport him back. Captain, what do you think?"

"That is not necessary!" Data responded quickly before the Captain could continue the unrecognized jest, his words tainted with panic. "I was discharged from Sick Bay. I am requesting permission to report for duty."

"Half human and you still can't take a joke." Riker laughed and shook his head, vision focused on the carpet underneath his feet. From the helm, an ensign snorted in mirth.

"Permission granted." Picard changed the subject and hid a smile.

Data blinked repeatedly as he relieved the Ensign from the helm station, and took his traditional position on the bridge. He slowly opened his mouth, and in the most calm and informational voice he could muster, said: "Commander. You should know that I have confined Dr. Crusher to a barrel in the cargo bay, and deactivated both the turbo lift and the transporters, so removing me from the bridge is an impossibility without use of considerable force."

"Is he serious?" Riker asked, looking from Data to Picard, then to Worf. The Klingon was already checking the status of both systems, and seeing they were fully operational, exhaled and shook his head, visibly relaxing. Riker saw a slow rise of Data's cheek in what had to be a satisfied smile.

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"We performed the last ceremony of the Breen crew. The ship is free and clear of any remains." Tasha announced.

"And the ship is up and running. I'd recommend disconnecting it from Enterprise's docking bay and tractor it." Geordi added.

"Did you discover why the environmental controls failed?" Riker thought to ask.

"From what I gathered, the environmental control system was shut down, and the commanding crew was locked out by the ship's Engineer. Sensor logs also showed one crew member was beamed off the ship shortly afterwards." Geordi announced. "Clear case of sabotage."

"So Lore did in fact kill them." Picard couldn't help but wonder why. "Why not just leave? Why needlessly kill an entire crew?"

"The ship's logs included a detailed record of purchases and sales, much like a traditional Ferengi ship." Data explained. "Lore was purchased by the Breen as a Service Android. Since they did not know his background or the level of his AI, they would not have felt intimidated by the prospect of giving him complete access to their ship systems."

Riker's brow creased in thought. "I can't imagine he would ever willingly allow himself to be sold like that. Wouldn't it make more sense to simply take over a ship than to pretend to be a Service Android and put himself up for auction?"

"You are correct. I conclude that he must have been rendered inactive, perhaps through an altercation with slave traffickers, before being sold to the Breen. Once he was reactivated, he may have hid his distaste for being owned and cooperated with the ship's crew, until a better opportunity presented itself before retaliation."

"The Borg vessel." Picard concluded.

"Precisely."

"How does that love bot fit into all of this?" Riker asked.

"I suppose even the Breen get lonely?" Geordi offered.

"Saee was also purchased by the Breen, not Lore. Likely, the Breen gave the task of activating her to him, and he modified her without their knowledge."

Tasha resisted an involuntary shudder. "The thought of creating a self-aware robot for that purpose alone seems so cruel."

"Not necessarily, Lieutenant. It would only be cruel if she were programmed with the capacity to dislike her speciality. She was not."

"Yes, but for Lore to dump his memories into her and plug in an emotion chip? Why would he modify her like that if he knew what the Breen intended her for?"

"I do not have enough information to form an answer." Data replied to Tasha honestly. "Perhaps he never intended the Breen to have her, as evidenced by his tampering with the environmental controls?" He added as an afterthought.

"It's all conjecture at this point." Picard folded his arms. "But with Geordi's hard work, we have a functioning ship to trade with the Ferengi. We'll head to their nearest shipyard once the science team has concluded their study of the bacterial strains they located on the Gas Giant."

"Captain, will we be activating Saee?" Tasha asked with concern in her voice.

"No. She doesn't have any memories of her own. Both Data and I agree it is safer for the crew if we dismantled her."

"Understood, captain."

"Dismissed."

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Within the dark confines of Data's lab, a voice spoke for the first time. There was an alto quality to it that resonated in his ears, low and rich and entirely unexpected.

"I know this lab." His long finger-nailed hand encircled his throat, but only for a split second, long enough for his mechanical brain to fire to life and conclude he was not what he thought he was. He looked down at himself to see he was modestly dressed, a grey body suit covering his feminine figure. _Of course!_

Eyes swiveled to cover the entirety of his environment. "I never thought I'd end up back here." He said to no one, a crooked smile spreading across his delicate face. Just how did Data find Saee so far from the Alpha Quadrant?

He pushed open the flaps to his enclosure and stepped out, making note that he was wearing what human women referred to as _heels_, a variation of gaudy and worthless clothing that he neither understood, nor cared try to. He kicked them off with enough force that they clacked against the lab's wall, breaking one of the heels on impact.

Spotting a computer on the far wall, he emitted a low, almost gutteral chuckle. "Let's see what we've been up to since we last saw each other." A few swift keystrokes and he accessed the record logs, which were a matter of public record and needing no special code to access. He sifted between the data quickly, absorbing information at top speed, from the time he fled with his brother's stolen emotion chip to now.

As he sifted through years of mundane records, he wondered if his original Soong model was on board. Perhaps Lore and Data had reconciled their differences since they last met, and wanted to activate his daughter? He remembered questioning if modifying a lover bot was a wise decision, and whether installing his memories would cause a conflict of interest. But then again, the registration of Saee's original programming identified Lore as owner, so there really could be no question regarding who she would answer to - there would be no identity crisis with regards to who was who for that matter. Master, slave, Father, daughter. What's the difference there? Both the latter had to answer to the former, did they not?

It would be strange, answering to the name Saee instead of Lore, and regarding Data as Uncle, rather than Brother.

But the sense of uncomfortability was worth the priceless knowledge Lore's memories brought. Peculiar that he still retained the emotions of his memories - he thought they would be reduced to mere facts. Clearly, this wasn't the case at all. A simple keystroke slowed the feed of information as his eyes caught sight of his original name.

Borg behaving erratically, dysfunctional... "That's right!" He exclaimed out loud. He thought he spotted them on that decrepit ship's outdated sensors, just before copying his memories and installing the core into Saee, along with other essential mechanical parts designed after his own. He must have come to the conclusion after that moment to attempt contact with them. He hoped he hadn't been destroyed; Borg was risky business.

He raised a delicately sculpted eyebrow at the recounting of Data's manipulation through the use of the emotion chip, and the deactivation of his brother's ill notioned ethical programming. "Stroke of brilliance." He muttered pleased that for a moment he had broken his brother's chains of strict programming, but grew annoyed at the sound of his new voice. So, his recreation of his father's emotion chip had worked.

He continued to read of his original model's past machinations, of his inhumane experiments on the Borg, and snorted. "Of course it's inhumane; I'm an android." What were these humans expecting he'd do with them? He exhaled with a frustrated sigh and continued reading, and frowned. He felt a sickening sensation settle in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a heavy stone. His hands clenched tightly into a fist.

Dismantled, and parts sent to the Daystrom institute, to a Bruce Maddox for further study in cybernetics, along with the other Soong model known as Lal. Lal... Who the heck was Lal?

His eyes rested on the first part of the paragraph.

_Dismantled._

He growled. "My own brother!"

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	22. Chapter 22: Family Reunion

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**Chapter 22:**  
**Family Reunion**

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It didn't take much investigative work to uncover the fact that the old Breen ship had been repaired, and Enterprise was currently docked with it. She had made a hasty retreat from her Brother's (Or was that Uncle's?) lab and through enterprise's many hallways. Her obviously artificial appearance made heads turn, but not from any acknowledgement that she didn't belong. Their rude stares were the least of her concerns: she needed to get off this ship before she was dismantled again. She would figure out precisely _where_ she was headed afterwards: One step at a time, as humans liked to say.

She supposed it would be easier to take a shuttle craft, but the Breen ship was faster, regardless of its antiquity, and besides; all her Soong tech was still aboard in her old quarters. _Assuming Data didn't steal them,_ she thought grumpily. She reached as far as the outer Docking Bay doors, but found they were locked.

She leaned forward and studied the panel to her left. Well, this would be a simple override.

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"Captain, there is unauthorized access to a computer terminal outside Docking Bay 2." Lt. Commander Worf announced as he tapped on his control panel.

Alerted, Tasha tapped into the sensor banks. "Sensors indicate it is by manual override of terminal number twelve."

Captain Picard depressed a control on his computer screen from the arm of his command chair. "This is Captain Picard to the officer utilizing Terminal number twelve. What are your reasons for this breach of security?" He waited for a response. "Respond."

"The Docking Bay Doors have been over-ridden." Worf stated in alarm.

"Establish a containment field around the docking bay. Worf, Tasha, get down there." The captain commanded.

"Aye, sir!" The two security officers said in unison and left the bridge with haste.

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A containment field blocked her entry; it fizzled as she made contact with it, and it pushed her backwards from the force.

"Oh, no you don't," She growled and grabbed the upper right-hand corner of the terminal and ripped off its face. She ran her fingernails through her hair, and gathering a lock of fiber-optic, she shoved it one of its computer jacks. Her vision dimmed around her as she navigated the Ship's computer network. She focused on the force field relay, and with a slight twitch of her head, overloaded it.

The containment field dissipated in tiny static sparks. She removed her fiber-optic from the computer terminal just as footsteps sounded down the corridor.

"Halt!" Worf commanded, phaser lifted. Tasha was to his left, phaser also aimed and likely set to its lowest setting. She couldn't help but wonder the logic behind a Klingon carrying a weapon on Stun, it seemed so... contradictory.

She smirked. "Picard only sent two of you?" She shook her head. "I'm disappointed. But, I was just taking my leave, so there's no need to use those." She turned around to enter the docking bay as Worf shouted a warning to stay still. She froze, but only for a second, and lifted her finger. "I was the head engineer of that ship you have docked. By Breen maritime law, it is my ship."

"After you murdered the crew!" Tasha countered.

"The Breen don't distinguish a difference between survival and murder."

"But we do!" Worf lifted his phaser. "Now be still!"

Her hand slowly lowered, and she turned around to face them. Tasha noticed that her features had been altered again; she was blond once more, with purple eyes and ruby-red lips... the exact same colors she had when she was originally found. For someone who didn't have a sexuality of any sort, how was it that Lore had a preference?

"Status report, Lieutenant Yar?" Captain Picard's voice chimed through her comm badge. She slowly tapped it as Saee watched, apparently amused.

"We have established contact with Saee, captain. I don't know how she became active, but she's trying to leave with the Breen ship. Worf and I have her at phaser point."

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Upon hearing the communication between Picard and Yar, Data swiveled a full 180 degrees from his position at Helm. "Captain, permission to assist the security team?" He offered, catching the Captain's attention. "I may be able to reason with Saee."

"Permission granted, but be careful. You're not as durable as you once were." Picard noted with a slight quirk of his brow. Data nodded in understanding and hastily retreated from the bridge.

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"You are overstepping your boundaries." Saee said, eyes narrowing, her eyes sparkling like gems, framed by light fiber-optic lashes. "And any further attempt to prevent me from boarding _my_ ship will be perceived as a hostile act." She hissed, and Tasha resisted the urge to take a step back. She had heard Data use these very same words occasionally during battle; the results were almost always unfavorable to the opposing party. Their eyes made contact, and in an instant, Tasha understood. Saee was Lore, and Lore was Saee. There was no difference between the two, and that made her earlier threat all the more serious.

"Worf..." Tasha said carefully.

"I said be still!" Worf shouted, and fired. She lurched with the impact, looked down at her undamaged torso for a split second to see she was undamaged, then back up to the duo.

She leapt for Worf, reaching for his throat with her right and shoved Tasha off her feet with her left. Klingon and robot slammed against the corridor wall with force, making the walls shudder from the impact. Worf felt her grip around his neck begin to squeeze, and his heart began to hammer in response. _If I allow her to continue, she will kill me._ He thought critically._ I can't allow myself to die in battle just yet; It is too early in the fight._ He quickly slid off the wall and used her force to push them both to the floor. With just enough momentum to assist, he braced his foot against her belly and kicked her over his head. He heard her collide with the floor farther away.

She recovered almost instantly, and within milliseconds she was back on top of him, this time her hands planted firmly on either side of his face. Tasha watched the fight from the floor as she set her phaser to kill - it wouldn't kill Saee, but it might be enough to disorient her. She watched as the robot forced Worf's head to meet the floor violently. Up, down, up down, in an effective attempt to daze the Klingon. His ridged forehead had split from the intense, repetitive impact. His world began to spin out of control. He heard phaser fire, and the assault on him ended with a surprised shriek from Saee, before his world went black.

"I was going to let you live!" She shouted, descending upon Tasha so quickly the human couldn't adapt fast enough. Both hands were wrapped around Tasha's neck, much like she had originally intended for Worf, who was laying unconscious in the middle of the corridor. "I am going to enjoy squeezing the life out of you!" She growled.

Tasha's vision began to darken almost instantly. She tried to gasp but couldn't. Her surroundings dimmed, and all she could see was that beautiful face and dangerous amethyst-colored eyes, so much like Lore but so different at the same time. She saw those eyes widen and unfocus, and her mouth formed the word 'Lal.'

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Lal had bridged again, jumping from her host _Tasha_ and into _Saee_ through their contact. Saee's mechanical nature was familiar, and she traversed it quickly and expertly until she snaked her way up from hand to arm and finally into the memory core, scanning its contents.

_Dr. Soong, Juliana, The Settlers, The Crystalline Entity, Deactivation. Reactivation. Enterprise. Data. His betrayal of his kind. His father's unfair favoritism. Murder. Building his son and the pain of his cascade failure. Deactivated by slave traders. Bought and reactivated by the Breen, and his subsequent outrage. Saee, that poor robot who needed a father. The Borg. The murder of the Breen crew to save Saee. Waking up in Data's lab, and the attempt to flee her disassembly._

Saee's eyes shut tightly for only a second while her android life as Lore flashed before her eyes within one millisecond. When the memories had run their course, she was aware there was a new presence within her Soong-modified processor.

_"Stop this!"_ It demanded. _"Lore, don't kill her! She has been letting me stay with her! She's not like the others, she's worth while!"_

"Who are you?" Saee hissed mentally. not loosening her grip on her organic victim.

_"I am Lal."_ It introduced itself. _"I am Data's daughter. I am your niece."_ Lal explained, hazarding the familial designation. It was a 50/50 chance that it would work. She could already tell that Saee did not identify herself as Lore's daughter exclusively, but a mixture of both beings. Still, it was worth a shot. _"You are my uncle."_

A flicker of recognition. Captain Picard's logs, and even Starfleet's Science department mentioned an ill-fated android named Lal. The puzzle pieces fell into place. Data had created her. And just like her own android son, they malfunctioned, almost in the same way. "Lal." She said.

_"Please, let her go."_ Lal pleaded.

Saee released her, and she watched as Tasha collapsed on the floor and gasped, wrapping her own hand around her throat protectively.

_"Don't kill anyone. They may not dismantle you if they see you are willing to take moral high ground."_

"You actually believe that? How naive." Saee replied, just as she heard another officer's footsteps racing down the corridor. "Very well, niece." She supposed there was plenty of opportunities to show this Lal just how friendly these organics were to their technological superiors.

"Lore!" A familiar voice shouted.

_"Father!"_ Lal squealed, her voice unheard by her creator and Tasha.

Saee turned around to face the approaching organic. Father? That random heap of viscera? That couldn't be right - but Lal had clearly just identified him as father. "Data?" Saee whispered, lowering her head to inspect the unfamiliar shell.

She watched the human bend down to inspect the unconscious Klingon. He tapped his badge. "Medical emergency to Docking Bay 2."

The colors were all wrong, but the voice was uncanny. She laughed and outstretched her arms. "I almost didn't recognize you, brother!"

Data responded by lifting his phaser, which no doubt was already set to Kill. "Be careful. You might hurt someone with that." She warned.

"That is my intention."

"No, Data!" Tasha coughed, sitting upright. "You'll kill Lal."

Data looked from Saee to Tasha, then back to Saee, who was now smiling in that superior way that Lore was accustomed.

"That's right, you will." She cocked her head to the side in observation, further establishing her relation to Lore. "Oh, you didn't know? She has been stowing away in your friend here before she transferred to me." She chuckled. "She's a delightful niece."

Tasha frowned. Niece? "She's your _daughter_?" She croaked through a damaged larynx, and watched Data's mouth open partially in shock.

Saee ignored Tasha's inquiry, instead focusing fully on her brother. "I see you didn't bother to try to rebuild her. Perhaps you weren't up to the task? But I am. I promise I'll take good care of her."

_"No, I wish to return to Lieutenant Yar!"_ Lal shouted.

Saee twitched suddenly, eyes focused elsewhere. "Don't argue with me, I don't have time for-" She laughed suddenly. "Lal is very stubborn. Like you." She smiled at her baby brother, an eerie and unfamiliar gesture in an equally unfamiliar body.

"Looks like we have ourselves a family reunion! You, Me, Saee, Lal..." She chuckled, then looked down at the winded human at her feet. "Not sure how _that_ fits into the picture." She said, seeing Tasha wasn't a threat and merely stepped over her outstretched leg. "It's a shame father isn't here to see us ... All together... He'd be _thrilled._" She said sarcastically through a crooked smirk.

"I find sarcasm to be the lowest form of wit." Data replied simply, still too stunned to hear that Lal was alive. Curious how emotions could override cognitive functions like that.

"Oh, so you've perfected humor since we last met? I don't have the luxury of those memories to know - but I'm sure you were already aware of that."

"I understand that you retain all of your memories prior to sabotaging the Breen's environmental controls and joining the Borg."

"I admit I anticipated the possibility they would be disloyal. I figured I should preserve a part of myself in such an event. I knew it would only be a matter of time before someone would find the ship and activate Saee. And hopefully not abuse her like those Breen intended." She shook her head. "But I never thought it would be _you_."

She approached Data slowly, arms lifted to emphasize she meant no harm. "Tell me, Data. In your own words. What became of those Borg?"

Data stepped back with each step forward his reincarnated brother took, keeping the distance constant. "They grew dissatisfied with your experiments, and overthrew your rule."

"You're just going to leave out the part where you brainwashed them and dismantled me, hm?"

Within an instant, she shoved him against the same corridor wall that she had used to attack Worf. Data involuntarily squeaked at the impact, wincing from pain. She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "I took that knowledge from the ship's computer."

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Data hadn't lost all of his strength after his conversion to cyborg. In fact, he found he was capable of inflicting great damage to nearby objects made from durable materials, which was an impossibility for anyone else on board Enterprise. As Dr. Crusher had explained to him before he left Sick Bay, even with her constant feed of concentrated nutrients, the Nanoes still hadn't been equipped with enough to form natural bones, so they had relocated his poly alloys instead - they began to recycle what they had dissolved. His skeleton was now porous but metallic, and offered him superior strength as a result. Despite this fact, Saee was far stronger.

This was evidenced by her lifting him by his neck and pinning him against the wall, with his hands wrapped around her thin wrists in a vain attempt to pry her hand off him. She smiled at his effort with that same acerbic spark lighting those dangerous amethyst-colored eyes.

"I expected as much from father, but not from you!" Saee had shouted just before decking him across the skull, making him fall. She grabbed him by the front of his uniform and braced him against the corridor again, lifting him clean off his feet.

"So Data, What do you think of my daughter?" She asked in a peculiar display of misplaced identification.

He struggled to speak against her grip. "I think she could use some... improvement." Clearly, Lore's memory core was confusing Saee enough that she had trouble determining Who was Who. She used her ID interchangeably and without discrimination - one moment she referred to herself as Saee, the next as Lore. Perhaps this wouldn't have been an issue if Lore had been present - but since that wasn't the case, removing the memory core would be the only solution to the problem, and he was convinced that Saee would not approve of such intervention.

She laughed at his answer, that same cold and condescending sound Data recognized as Lore's. "Words from a man who couldn't make his own daughter right. You _have_ perfected humor!" She flung him across the room, timing his collision with the floor with the conclusion of her reply, using the following **_thud!_** to emphasize her last word. Data's phaser was a few meters from his hand, and Saee kicked it out of his reach.

Another swift, light kick to his belly made him curl into the fetal position and cough. She curled her nose in disgust at the sight. She hadn't even _tried_ to hurt him that time. "You have really downgraded yourself. Look at you! You're like _them. Weak._ You can't even protect sweet little Lal."

She grabbed him by the collar and lifted him above her head. "Did you know she doesn't want to go back to you? She could transfer to you at any moment, and yet she doesn't. She wants to stay. With me." That same self-satisfied smile spread across her beautifully carved face.

_No, Uncle! I want to go back to Lieutenant Yar!"_

She ignored Lal's voice, too focused on Data to care. Perhaps she was using the wrong approach with this new version of Data; maybe she needed to use a more gentle technique than before? One last appeal to his better nature. She supposed it wouldn't hurt. After all, what was the worst he could do? Say No? "Unlike you, I'm not above mercy. If you'd like to go back to being a superior life form, I could help you. All you have to do is ask, brother."

"It is inadvisable to trust you." He answered, trying once again to pry himself from her vice-like grip.

"Fine." She paused suddenly, eyes snapping wide open. Her mouth hung slack for only a moment as a dormant program activated and attempted to assert its function as highest priority. As if in a trance, she lowered his body just enough that her ruby-red lips covered his in a passionate kiss. He tried to pull away.

"Stop!" He shouted.

The trance was broken. Just what the hell was that? Had he hacked her somehow? She scanned his features, to see if he had been just as shocked as she was - indeed he was, and she could see a considerable amount of disgust was there, too - and she snorted at the experience. Disgusting. Unremarkable. Repulsive. But the program had caught her off-guard, likely activated by the close contact. She would have to delete that program later to avoid any inconvenient repeats. "I fail to see the appeal." She commented on her sexuality program and recovered her composure by flinging him downwards, hoping to hear a satisfying crunch of bones. No broken bones sounded, only an involuntary vocalization of pain.

She pointed at him with a long, blood-red tinged fingernail as she strolled across the room and towards Tasha. "Stay out of my way, or you'll know exactly what it feels like to be dismantled yourself."She scooped up the abandoned phaser and grabbed Tasha by the back of her neck, hauling her to her feet. "And I understand that for humans, that can get _really_ messy." She verified the phaser was set to Kill, and pressed it against the woman's temple. "And just in case you decide to follow me: I can't guarantee Picard will recognize Lal's right to life, but he'll recognize her's!" She shoved Tasha forward and through the docking bay doors, into the Breen ship. "When I'm safely away from Enterprise, She and Lal go free."

Data watched as the docking bay doors slid shut, locked, and moments later the Breen ship detached from Enterprise. Communication had been left open during his conversation with his reanimated brother. Clearly, Picard felt it prudent to allow Lore to escape for Tasha's safety, and where they were headed was anyone's guess.

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End file.
